The last of the final exam scrolls had been collected, and the academy sandstone walkways hummed with the relieved chatter of students rushing off to celebrate the end of the semester. Laia had lingered just long enough to turn in her paper, her mind already three steps ahead, running through the cost of a chartered transit skiff to the northern void rift. She'd been saving for weeks, setting aside every spare crystal from the Box of Avarice's steady daily output, and she was finally close enough to taste it. Elemental fruits, if the old border rumors held true. A single ripe specimen could boost her Abyss Resistance well past its current limits, no overpriced academy rune cards required.
She'd just turned down the path toward her dorm, already mentally tallying transit fares and field rations, when a familiar voice called out from behind her, smooth and poised as polished ivory.
"Laia. A moment, if you would."
Laia's steps slowed. She knew that voice before she turned around. Muriel Xue—first princess of the imperial bloodline, top-ranked fourth-year in the academy, senior disciple under Lord Thorne, and the last person she wanted to be cornered by on an otherwise quiet afternoon. She turned with a neutral, politely blank expression, and offered a small, formal tilt of her head.
"Senior Muriel. I didn't expect to run into you here. You look well."
Muriel smiled, warm and easy—the kind of practiced, regal smile that made every student within ten feet glance over and whisper. She stepped closer, her white academy robes immaculate, a single silver imperial crest pinned to her collar, and held out a hand in greeting.
"Please, none of that stiff formality. We are fellow disciples, are we not? Call me Muriel. And I may call you Laia?"
"Of course," Laia said, shaking her hand briefly before letting go. Firm grip. Calculating eyes. Exactly what she'd expected from the imperial princess.
"I've been meaning to track you down ever since you got back from the border," Muriel said, falling into step beside her like they were old friends, like they hadn't exchanged more than ten words total before Laia left for the abyss. "Three months straight on the abyssal front? I was shocked when I heard. I thought for certain you'd gone after Lyra Voss, when she ran off to the lost lands. But you are smarter than that, aren't you? Too sharp to go throwing your life away for a collapsing noble house."
Laia's jaw tightened, just a fraction. So that was what this was. Fishing for information. Testing her allegiances.
"The border was just work," she said, plain and unadorned. "Tuition isn't cheap. Needed the merits."
Muriel laughed, soft and amused, like she'd heard a charming joke instead of the unvarnished truth. "Just work. Of course. Most students come back from a three-month tour half-broken, their realms half-eroded, lucky to have half their followers left. You come back with a spotless service record and more merits than most seniors earn in an entire academic year. Modesty becomes you, but you do not have to hide your talent with me."
She paused at the edge of the central courtyard fountain, and turned to face Laia directly, her tone shifting, warmer, more earnest.
"I heard what you did out west. Took down a fifth-tier tiger king solo. Cleared out the entire outer gorge in six weeks. That is not just 'work', Laia. That is raw, unpolished genius. The kind Lord Thorne spends decades searching for."
Laia said nothing. She just stood there, neutral-faced, and waited for the ask. Everyone always had an ask. Noble girls did not walk up to scholarship students and compliment them out of the goodness of their hearts.
Sure enough, Muriel's smile softened, and she leaned in slightly, conspiratorial.
"Lord Thorne's health is not what it used to be. You know that. He will not be around forever. When he steps down, there will be positions at the imperial border command for his most promising disciples. Real postings. Real authority. Not just scraping by on merit bounties and academy stipends."
She held Laia's gaze, steady and sure.
"I am putting together a team. The best of the best, from among his disciples. People I can trust. People with actual skill, not just family names and empty titles. I want you on it, when the time comes."
There it was. The recruitment pitch.
Laia's face stayed perfectly polite. She'd known this was coming the second Muriel had called her name. The princess was building a faction. Everyone knew it. She and Soren Shaw had been jockeying for position for years, lining up allies for the day Lord Thorne's legacy was up for grabs.
"Thank you for the offer," she said, careful and even. "I am flattered. But I am not much of a team player. I work better alone."
Muriel did not look offended. If anything, she looked amused, like she'd expected the answer.
"Of course. I would never pressure you. Think about it, that is all I ask. And for the record? I am not like the Voss family. I do not drag people into sinking ships. I invest in people who are going places. And you, Laia? You are going very far."
She nodded toward the great hall at the top of the campus hill, where the end-of-semester gala would be held at the end of the week.
"You are coming to the mixer, yes? All the upper disciples will be there. Good connections. Useful people to meet. If you decide you want to talk more, find me there. I will save you a glass of starwine."
With that, she gave a small, regal nod, and turned to glide back across the courtyard, leaving Laia standing there by the fountain.
Laia watched her go, and sighed quietly under her breath.
Great. More noble drama. Exactly what she'd been trying to avoid.
She turned and headed back to her dorm, already mentally shoving the whole conversation into a box labeled deal with later. The gala she'd planned to slip in and out of, anonymous and quiet, just long enough to pick up a few useful post-grad contacts? That was going to be harder now. The imperial princess knew her name, and had her marked as a potential recruit. Soren Shaw would probably catch wind of it before the week was out, too.
She pushed open her dorm door, dropped her bag on the desk, and pulled up her crystal balance on the desk rune-panel.
One hundred and twelve crystals saved up. Almost enough for the northern rift transit fee.
Forget galas. Forget noble factions. Forget princesses with recruitment pitches.
She had an elemental fruit to hunt. That was the only thing that mattered.
She pulled out a tattered, heavily annotated map of the northern void rifts, spread it across the desk, and leaned in.
Politics could wait. Profit could not.