Headmaster Dalin Larenok sat in his office, scowling deeply as he flipped through page after page of reports and assessments.

Reports, complaints, demands. It never ended. He'd risen as far as he could, yet even here he was trapped by the chains of expectation and obligation.

An uncomfortable mix of envy and hatred stirred in his heart, overseeing the progress of these students. They moved so fast, so young.

When he was that age, he'd been strictly controlled, doing everything the way he was supposed to. Attending the proper schools, learning the proper spells. He'd never had a chance at becoming a proper mageblade. His class was a mockery, a second-rate imitation that grated on his soul.

Why should they have the chance handed to them without effort? Why should they be able to outstrip him in a few short years, dancing off to the coasts to fight for glory while he remained here, forever trapped, unable to advance.

It was a constant frustration, but today it felt more unbearable than usual. Was there no world in which he could thrive? Was his fate always to be used and discarded by those who thought themselves better by little more than the accident of birth?

Then Larenok’s eyes stopped dead, one line on a complaint drawing his attention inexorably. The name of the perpetrator.

Jair Welburne.

Larenok’s fist tightened on the page as he scanned the information. Still they continued making his job harder, even after all the trouble they’d already caused.

This whole affair with the dragon was proving more trouble than it was worth. The incentive provided by Serin was barely enough to justify getting involved in the first place - if he’d remotely believed the threat was genuine he would never have agreed to the deal.

He’d lost Garow Firdon, one of the best resources he had, and one of the only elemental manipulation teachers willing to work for less than extreme salaries. His personal share of the budget was going to suffer for years due to this loss, costing far more in the end than anything Serin provided.

Larenok read through the report, jaw tightening with each line.

Welburne's behavior had taken a turn for the worse ever since he took that Aelir-cursed sword.

Worst of all, it could have been prevented. Larenok had held the weapon in his hands. For a few brief moments, too stunned to take proper advantage, paralyzed by the sheer power of the weapon.

For a few seconds, he'd been able to feel what it could have been like if his future hadn't been determined for him from before he was born. For a few moments he'd been able to imagine his misaligned path could be redeemed.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

But of course not. The world hated Dalin Larenok, always had and always would. He fought it for every inch, fought the weight of tradition, the schemes of the powerful, and always everyone set themselves against him.

He’d once again bowed to necessity, as always before, and surrendered the blade to a child who would only use it for selfish ends.

And now the arrogant child was making enemies already. The heroes of the hour, Serin and Welburne, thought they no longer needed to even pretend to follow the rules now they had a taste of power?

Welburne thought he could impose his will on his classmates and control them all with fear and violence.

Well. Dalin Larenok wasn't headmaster of this school without due cause. He may not be a 'real' mageblade, but he knew well enough how they thought. And how to bring them in line.

He smoothed out the request form and wrote out a quick reply, then added it to the stack for his secretary.

Lian Teretho. Yes. He’d hear the kid out.

He may even give him a discount.

—-

"Headmaster?" Lian Teretho spoke with the perfect mix of arrogant condescension and wheedling, just enough to make Larenok want to strangle the little bastard, while also making him feel in a position of sufficient power that he didn't need to do so.

"What is it, Teretho?" Larenok's reply was gruff, giving nothing away. He didn't have enough of a read on the situation to properly gauge the purpose of this little visit, and he wasn't willing to commit to any particular tone just yet.

"I'm sorry to bother you with something so trivial, but I've just returned from my private healer's practice after my injuries, and I'm wondering if you could tell me what's being done about the assault on my friends?"

"Friends, eh? Who might those be?" Larenok couldn't be bothered keeping track of every little clique and feud among the squabbling children. He had enough problems to deal with without paying that much attention to the little brats.

"Zyn Cabas and Atrek Nokier. They were severely injured by one of our classmates. I'm wondering if either of them have come forward, or if they're all staying quiet for fear of reprisals."

Larenok flipped through the stack of complaints forms. "Looks like Zyn requested that he be allowed to retake a test after a ‘busy evening’. Nothing about being assaulted."

Lian visibly slumped, at least for a noble, shoulders slipping fractionally lower. "I don't suppose my word on the matter is any good?"

"Did you witness this assault?"

Lian shook his head.

"So you're basically asking me to act on rumor and hearsay."

"I've spoken with each of them, there's no question of who's responsible. Bren Tolo almost died and is still undergoing specialist treatment as a result. There's a good chance he'll never be able to speak properly again."

Anger tinted Teretho's voice, anger Larenok could sympathize with. But he wasn’t going to do anything for free.

"I suppose you think that your family name is enough to move my policy on intervention among student conflicts?"

Lian took the hint immediately. "Naturally not. I'll see to it you're compensated for the necessary time and effort. We both want to see justice done."

"Well, in that case... I'm sure we can come to an arrangement."

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