Location: Armathane, Midgard Council Quarters Time: Day 78 After Alec's Arrival
Alec woke early, as always.
The palace had its own rhythm—soft chimes near dawn, followed by quiet activity behind doors that never slammed. Even the guards changed shifts with minimal sound. But Alec was already dressed by the time the sun cracked the treetops.
He'd never needed much sleep.
The maid who brought his breakfast said nothing, and neither did he. He ate standing by the window, watching city smoke curl upward between towers and terrace steps. Beneath that veneer of calm, he could feel the noise building. Word of his return hadn't faded—it had spread. It was now part of the city's morning routine.
Today, Serina was to show him the Council Quarters.
Not the grand hall where titles paraded. The real heart: records, chamber halls, administrative wings, and internal courts.
He'd already mapped it in his head. Today, he'd map it in truth.
—
Serina arrived late. Just by a minute or two, but Alec noticed.
"You're adjusting well," she said as they walked through the east corridor. "Even the staff's starting to forget you're not one of us."
"I'm not."
"Yet."
She glanced at him. He wore the same simple tunic as before, though this one had a darker trim. Still no crest. No badge of office.
"Most men would have asked for embroidery by now."
"I'm not interested in looking the part."
She smirked. "That'll make you harder to pin down. Smart."
They turned a corner, passing a pair of guards who saluted her and eyed Alec with passive curiosity.
"The council buildings weren't part of the original palace," Serina explained as they stepped through an archway. "They were added later—modularly. My mother doesn't like things that can't be adapted."
"Wise."
"She designed the layout with her advisors. Chambers here can be repurposed by rotation. This month, the eastern wing handles trade law. Next month, it might be grain requisitions."
Alec nodded as they entered the main rotunda. The floor beneath their feet was a massive stone dial, divided by etched lines—each marked with a symbol: scales, a sheaf of wheat, a sword, a scroll, a flame.
"Those are the council pillars," she said. "Law. Supply. Defense. Records. Civic Growth."
"And who holds the flame?" Alec asked.
"My mother," Serina replied. "Always."
—
They moved next into the chamber corridors, where assistants hurried past with papers and tall boots, where minor lords and appointed ministers whispered in alcoves designed to catch nothing but light.
Alec didn't speak.
He listened.
He picked up one name—Lord Elric Darnis—mentioned three times in two different tones. One deferential. One with disdain. Another muttered "Elric's motion won't pass." A different voice said, "His grain deal's already poisoned."
"Darnis is ambitious," Serina said, noticing his attention. "But loud. My mother says politics isn't war—it's architecture. Shouting never built a bridge."
"And whispers?"
"Whispers built cities."
She led him to the records hall, where scribes worked in tightly organized rows, each managing scrolls and tabulations on current labor levies, taxation matrices, and estate reports from across Midgard.
One table tracked population trends by year, divided by region, with an open margin for annotations.
"Do they track birth rates?" Alec asked.
Serina blinked. "Yes. Why?"
"Because that's how you predict supply strain five years from now. Resource misalignment. Infrastructure bottlenecks. Migration trends."
She looked at him with faint amusement. "Most nobles look at land. Not babies."
"Most nobles will starve their cities before their egos."
She didn't argue.
They walked deeper, past stone shelves filled with sealed disputes and conflict records. Alec studied the format—petition, notation, response line, final seal. Four steps.
"Every decision passes through at least two hands," she said. "More if it touches gold."
"Built-in friction."
"It prevents rash choices."
"It also slows necessary ones."
"Yes."
They stopped at a central bench.
Serina sat. Alec remained standing.
"So," she said, "what do you think?"
"Too many signatures. Not enough audits. Too much emphasis on maintaining the shape of things. Not enough thought on function."
"Is that your plan, then? To tear it down and rebuild it?"
"No," Alec said. "That's how you make enemies. I'll build something better beside it. Then let them choose."
She tilted her head. "That's arrogant."
"It's efficient."
"And what if they don't choose yours?"
"They will."
He said it with no pride. Just certainty.
Serina narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're not wrong. But you're still dangerous."
"I'm just logical."
"Logic doesn't inspire loyalty. People do."
He looked at her. "Then help me learn them."
She wasn't expecting that.
He meant it.
—
They moved next into the council observation gallery. The chamber below was currently empty, but the seating rows above had excellent visibility. Serina pointed to each assigned section.
"That's where the noble representatives sit. Over there, appointed merchant guild chairs. The central seat is for the presiding voice—usually my mother, or someone she chooses."
"And the side alcove?"
"For the Watch. They rarely speak. But they observe everything."
Alec leaned on the railing, silent for a long time.
Then he said, "This is where things appear to happen."
"Yes."
"But not where they actually happen."
"No."
He turned toward her. "So why bring me here?"
"Because you'll need to understand appearances before you try to change anything. That's where most builders fail."
Alec smiled faintly. "Most builders don't start from the bottom."
"No," Serina agreed. "They don't."
—
As they walked back toward the main wing, Serina slowed her steps.
"There's more I could show you. But I wanted to see how you reacted to this."
"To what?"
"To the machine. The politics. The way the world turns itself on paper and posture."
Alec considered it.
"It's slower than it needs to be. But the foundation's not broken. Just misaligned."
"That's the most generous review I've ever heard."
He stopped.
"I don't need it to be perfect. Just ready for change."
She looked up at him.
"And who decides what that change should look like?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then: "Those who understand the consequences."
"And you think you do?"
"Not yet. But I'm learning."
She gave a slow nod.
"You're not like the others."
"Neither are you."
That made her pause.
Then she said, "Come with me. One more thing."
—
She brought him to a small chamber behind the upper strategy room. Not a council space. More like a retreat.
Inside was a simple table. On it, a map—unfinished, unmarked in parts.
Serina unrolled it. "This is my mother's shadow map. Not the official version. This one is hand-annotated."
Alec leaned over the parchment. It showed the duchy's true reach—not just holdings, but resource veins, known allegiances, local uprisings, and supply stress points. He saw not just land, but leverage.
"You want to know how the world works?" she said. "Start here."
Alec studied the lines, the drawn symbols, the notations. He didn't say a word for nearly a minute.
Then he spoke.
"You've just given me a key."
"Not yet. That happens when you know what to do with it."
"I will."
Serina stepped back. "I believe you."
—
They returned to the west wing just before lunch. The palace was brighter now. No longer cloaked in morning shadow.
Alec turned before parting.
"I meant what I said. Thank you."
Serina looked tired, but not in a bad way. Just... full.
"You're going to change everything, aren't you?"
He didn't smile. But he didn't deny it.
"Would you help me do it?"
She raised her brows. "Why?"
"Because I don't want to become someone people follow out of fear."
Serina stepped closer.
"Then don't forget days like this," she said. "Where you asked for help, not applause."
She touched his sleeve, briefly.
Then walked away.
This time, Alec didn't watch her leave.
He was already looking forward.