Aldric reached the academy before noon.
The place smelled like chalk dust, old books, and people who took themselves far too seriously.
Students froze when they saw him cross the courtyard alone. One bowed too deeply and nearly fell over. Another stared so hard he forgot to blink.
Aldric pretended not to notice.
He wasn't here to intimidate anyone.
Well—
Not everyone.
He stopped in front of a side hall that wasn't listed on the official directory.
"…Of course," he muttered. "That's always where the interesting things are."
The door was half-open.
Inside, voices were raised.
"You are going to collapse it again!"
"It won't collapse," a woman snapped back. "It just doesn't like being treated gently."
Aldric smiled and pushed the door open.
The room looked like it had lost an argument.
Broken chalk circles littered the floor. Symbols glowed faintly along the walls, some half-erased, others burning brighter than they should have. The air itself felt tight, like it was being forced to behave.
At the center floated something that was very clearly not behaving.
A defensive construct —basic in theory—twisted and adjusted itself constantly, bending instead of resisting when energy surged through it.
Aldric raised an eyebrow.
"Well," he said mildly, "that's not in the textbook."
The young woman beneath it didn't look up.
"Neither am I," she said. "Give me a second."
An instructor rushed in behind Aldric, already mid-rant.
"Miss Arinelle, I explicitly told you not to—"
He froze.
"…Your Majesty."
Arinelle finally turned.
She blinked once.
"Oh," she said. "Hi."
Aldric waved. "Please continue. I'm learning things."
The instructor looked like he might faint.
"She's going to blow up the hall," he hissed.
Arinelle snorted. "I blew it up last time. This time I'm fixing it."
She snapped her fingers.
The construct shuddered—then settled.
The hum dropped into something smooth and controlled. The pressure in the room eased instantly.
Nothing exploded.
The instructor stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.
"…That shouldn't work."
Arinelle shrugged. "It does if you don't panic."
Aldric chuckled.
"That's going on a plaque somewhere," he said.
"What is it supposed to do?" Aldric asked, stepping closer.
"Normally?" Arinelle said. "Hold still and break when hit hard enough."
"And now?"
"Now it moves with the hit," she replied. "Like dodging, but for walls."
Aldric nodded approvingly. "Smart. Walls are notoriously bad at dodging."
She smiled before she could stop herself.
The instructor looked deeply offended by both of them.
Aldric watched her hands as she made minor adjustments.
They weren't hesitant.
They weren't careful.
They were practiced.
Too practiced for someone her age.
"You learned this outside the academy," Aldric said casually.
Arinelle paused—just for half a breath.
"…Yes."
The instructor stiffened. "She's referring to unauthorized—"
"No," Aldric said. "She's referring to failure."
Arinelle looked at him sharply.
Aldric continued lightly, as if commenting on the weather.
"Something broke when it shouldn't have. Someone trusted the design. And you decided that wouldn't happen again."
The room went quiet.
"…It was a city barrier," Arinelle said after a moment. "Small. Old. Everyone said it was 'good enough.'"
Her fingers curled unconsciously.
"It wasn't."
Aldric nodded once.
No pity.
No anger.
Just understanding.
"That's usually how rules get rewritten," he said. "After they fail someone important."
She studied him, then looked away.
Aldric reached out and lightly disturbed the construct.
Not enough to break it.
Just enough to be irritating.
The structure wobbled.
The instructor gasped. "Your Majesty!"
"Oh relax," Aldric said. "I've broken much more expensive things."
Arinelle reacted instantly.
"Hey— don't poke it like that!"
She tore part of the pattern apart midair and rebuilt it in seconds, redirecting the flow with sharp, confident movements.
The construct stabilized again.
Stronger.
The instructor went silent.
Aldric straightened.
"You fix problems faster than they appear," he said. "That's… inconveniently rare."
Arinelle rubbed the back of her neck. "I just don't like inefficiency."
"That's dangerous thinking," Aldric said gravely. "You'll never be happy."
She laughed.
Aldric turned to the instructor.
"How often does she get punished for this?"
"…Frequently."
"Ah," Aldric said. "That explains why she's improving so fast."
The instructor opened his mouth.
Aldric held up a hand.
"Don't," he said kindly. "You'll only say something you regret."
He turned back to Arinelle.
"How would you feel about working somewhere that encourages this sort of behavior?" Aldric asked.
She blinked. "Encourages?"
"Yes," Aldric said. "Actively."
"…Is this a trick?"
"Possibly," Aldric admitted. "But it pays well."
She stared at him for a long moment.
"…When do we start?"
They left the academy less than an hour later.
Lysenne waited outside, arms folded, observing Arinelle like a puzzle she already liked.
"This one breaks rules," Lysenne said.
Arinelle stiffened. "I can follow orders—"
"You won't need to," Lysenne replied calmly.
Arinelle looked at Aldric. "Is that true?"
Aldric smiled.
"I hired you because you don't," he said.
Her smile spread—sharp, excited, a little dangerous.
As they walked away, Aldric glanced back at the academy.
Old walls. Old rules.
"Well," he muttered, "that was productive."
Somewhere beyond the city, something old adjusted its attention.
Not to Aldric.
But to the things he was quietly fixing before they broke.