The next morning, Elena was ready for whatever this world could throw at her—well, emotionally ready, if not financially. Her wallet, metaphorically speaking, still felt as thin as a shadow under moonlight.
She awoke early, determined to make use of the scholar's badge she now wore like a badge of pride and confusion. She dressed in the gray-and-sapphire uniform, tied her hair in a loose braid, and carried her borrowed satchel filled with parchment, ink, and the well-used Quill of Minor Accuracy (a minor magical tool that vibrated slightly when spelling errors were made, which Elena both loved and deeply resented).
Downstairs, Miss Aria was already sweeping the inn's entrance, while the sleepy-eyed baker's boy handed over the day's bread delivery.
"Off to the Hall again?" Aria asked, glancing at her uniform with a faint smile.
"Yes," Elena nodded, then paused. "Um, can I ask something?"
"Of course."
"Miss Aria… what do most people earn in this city? Like, in copper and silver crowns? Just so I stop guessing everything wrong."
Aria chuckled, leaning on the broom. "Well, let's see. A laborer earns about 3 copper crowns a day, maybe 4 if it's heavy work. Cooks earn 5 to 7. Apprentices like you—depending on the arrangement—might get meals, housing, and around 1 or 2 copper crowns per day, or sometimes just a weekly stipend."
Elena blinked. "That's… not much."
"No," Aria agreed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "But most people learn to live within their means. A hot meal costs 1 to 2 copper. Bread's about half a crown. A small room rents for 10 copper a week. If you're lucky and good at what you do, you might earn silver crowns one day. But that takes time."
Elena nodded, mind spinning. She'd been underestimating the value of copper this entire time.
10 copper = 1 silver. 10 silver = 1 gold.
She mentally created a chart in her head:
Bread: ½ copper
Meal: 1–2 copper
Rent: 10 copper/week
Average labor pay: 3–5 copper/day
Books: still too expensive to even imagine
With that clearer picture in her mind, she made her way to the Hall of Scholars.
Inside, the bustling corridor was filled with young apprentices like herself, each wearing slightly different badges to show their branch: red for arcanists, green for herbal studies, blue for history, gold for politics, and silver for general academia—which she was apparently lumped into until she declared a specialty.
"Miss Virelle," came a familiar voice. Scholar Enwin, short and round like a teapot, gestured for her to follow him into a small lecture room.
"We'll begin your basics in politics today," he said. "You'll be helping copy some of our policy ledgers, and in exchange, I'll give you reading access to the economic and political archives."
Her eyes widened. "That's a good deal."
"It is. And don't worry, your stipend has been logged. One copper per day, with lunch included. We call that a 'recording assistant' rate."
Elena bowed slightly. "Thank you. I'll do my best."
The ledgers were no joke. They were old, thick, and smelled like dusty stone. Her job was to copy key clauses from municipal charters and trade agreements onto fresh parchment so they could be preserved magically.
As she wrote, Scholar Enwin occasionally paused to explain terms.
"This clause regulates the import of ironwood from the Northern Reaches. See the note? Tax was reduced from 15% to 8% last season due to the blockade lifting. The Council voted on it unanimously."
"Who makes up the Council?" Elena asked.
"Ah. Good question." He tapped the desk. "The city is ruled by the Circle of Eight. Each represents one major guild or discipline. There's the Mage's Chair, the Artisan's Chair, the Mercantile Seat, the Civic Voice, the Sentinel's Guard, the Healer's Chair, the Agricultural Root, and the Foreign Affairs Seat. Balance is key, but as you might expect, the Mercantile and Mage chairs hold the most sway."
"So… no king?"
Enwin chuckled. "Not here. The capital has a royal court, but in city-states like this, we are semi-autonomous. Local governance is managed internally, though we still pay taxes and follow the kingdom's major decrees."
Elena copied more of the text carefully, absorbing each fact like a sponge.
By midday, she had a headache—but also a sense of wonder.
She was learning how this world worked, piece by piece. The politics weren't just nobles bossing around peasants. It was complex, fragile, and filled with trade-offs—like tax cuts on ironwood or debate over canal maintenance.
During lunch, she wandered to the dining hall—a large open room with long benches and steaming trays of food, all covered in glass dome charms to keep them warm and dust-free.
She handed over her token and was given a bowl of lentil stew with flatbread, a copper's worth of food—but it felt like gold to her.
As she sat and ate, a girl plopped down beside her.
"Scholar's assistant?" the girl asked, glancing at Elena's badge.
"Uh, yes. Elena Virelle."
"Carmilla. Scribe trainee. I saw you in the archives yesterday, practically drooling on the glass."
Elena laughed nervously. "They had a book titled 'The Ethics of Trade and Salt Routes of the Western Coast'. I didn't know I could be excited about something like that."
"Oh, then you're one of those," Carmilla grinned. "Weirdly excited about ledgers and ancient history. I like you already."
They chatted over their meal, and Carmilla explained how scribes earned 4 copper crowns per copied scroll—but accuracy had to be perfect, or you started over. "One mistake and it's soup duty for a week."
Elena winced. "Harsh."
"Yup. Welcome to apprentice life."
After lunch, Elena returned to her desk and continued her work—faster now, more confident.
She didn't notice the hours flying by until the hall bell rang for evening dismissal.
Scholar Enwin handed her a slip of parchment. "Your weekly stipend will be collected at the front desk on Seven's Day. You've earned five copper crowns."
Five. Enough to cover meals for several days or save for… maybe a used book, one day.
As she stepped outside into the warm sunset air, Elena smiled.
She didn't know everything yet. The world was still vast, confusing, and often expensive.
But she now understood the basics: how politics shaped taxes, how apprentices earned (or barely earned), and that even a single copper crown could feel like a treasure when it was yours.
And back in her satchel, tucked between her notes, the mysterious paper from days ago still waited, folded and quiet.
Its ink hadn't faded.
Its warning still echoed in her mind:
"When you're ready, find the place where the stars fall."
---
"Why Are Potatoes More Expensive Than Magic?"
Elena Virelle stared blankly at the ceiling beams of the attic, the musty scent of wood and herbs mingling faintly in the air. Her fingers clutched the worn slip of parchment once again—the note she'd found folded in the back of the alchemy ledger, the one scrawled in tight script.
"Your name doesn't belong here. Be careful who you trust. Watch for the mark under moonlight."
Even now, she had no idea what it meant. No sender. No signature. And every time she read it, it chilled her spine.
She turned it over again, half hoping invisible ink would bloom from the page like magic. It didn't. Not under candlelight, not under sun. She hadn't tried moonlight yet—mainly because she didn't want Miss Marla catching her crouched on the rooftop holding a cryptic note to the sky like a lunatic.
Still, a thought lingered.
"My name doesn't belong here?"
What did that mean? And who knew her name to begin with?
Elena folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into the lining of her satchel before making her way downstairs. As always, the shop was already bustling.
"Good morning!" she chirped, voice a little too cheerful.
Marla raised an eyebrow. "You sound suspiciously awake."
"I read something alarming and then had existential dread for two hours. I'm full of energy now."
The older woman snorted, handing her a burlap pouch. "Off to the market today. We're low on blueroot, wind thistle, and—gods help us—potatoes. Again."
Elena blinked. "Potatoes?"
"Don't give me that look. We use them for poultices, not eating. And yes, the price has doubled again. Blame the Crown's border taxes."
Elena was already halfway out the door when she stopped. "Wait—border taxes on potatoes?"
"Don't ask," Marla groaned. "Just go before I throw a potion bottle at you."
---
The market square in Kaer Thalion was buzzing with midmorning energy. Merchants hawked their wares under brightly colored canvas tents. Children weaved between stalls chasing each other with wooden swords. Smells of spiced meat and fresh bread wafted over from the food carts.
Elena stopped at the first produce vendor she saw—a wiry man with crooked teeth and a permanently sour expression.
"Potatoes?" she asked.
He spat into the dust beside him. "Two copper crowns per piece."
Elena's jaw dropped. "Per piece? Not a sack?"
"Lady, you see the size of these? Imported from the eastern ridges. That's two copper per spud, take it or leave it."
Grumbling, she pulled out six copper crowns—half a silver already—and picked out the smallest, roundest potatoes she could find. They looked smug in her sack.
Next, she moved to the herbalist stalls. Blueroot was ten copper crowns per bundle, wind thistle fifteen. She handed over a full silver crown and three copper for just two small satchels of herbs and the damned potatoes.
Running total for Marla's errand: 1 silver, 9 copper crowns.
As she counted her remaining coins, she couldn't help but think: A beginner spellbook costs two silver crowns. But six potatoes cost more than half that? She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
---
On the way back, Elena passed by the outer courtyard of the Scholars' Guild.
A young woman in gray robes was addressing a group of teens under a sun-worn canopy.
"—and that's why King Halvor's Third Edict on Crown Trade had disastrous ripple effects on domestic produce pricing," the lecturer explained. "By prioritizing rare mana goods for export, we destabilized our staple economy."
Elena stopped in her tracks. Wait, what?
She took a hesitant step closer.
The young lecturer noticed her hovering and gestured kindly. "You there, with the herbs. Curious?"
"I just paid nearly a silver for potatoes and now I'm emotionally invested," Elena replied honestly.
A few of the students chuckled. The lecturer grinned.
"Sit in if you'd like. I'm Arlyn—apprentice historian and soon-to-be broke philosopher."
Elena eased into the group, listening carefully as Arlyn explained the effects of the crown's changing trade policies, how shifts in magical goods—like fire dust and glowroot—had led to new tax tariffs and shortages in basic farm imports. She referenced old kingly edicts and even presented copies of the tariffs to read.
Elena learned:
The Crown's current focus is exporting magical materials to allied cities and islands, weakening internal food circulation.
Border tax on staple crops increased twofold after a failed treaty negotiation.
Nobles are partially exempt from these tariffs—local citizens are not.
"That's why potatoes are two copper per spud," Arlyn finished with a shrug. "And why most of us live on turnips and dreams."
Elena scribbled everything into her little notebook. She was already seeing a pattern—the more she listened, the more the pieces of this world clicked into place.
---
Back at the shop, Marla raised a brow at the ledger.
"Why do your numbers look neater today?"
"I sat through an economics lecture on potato inflation. It changed me."
The older woman cackled. "And here I thought you'd snapped."
"Not yet. Maybe at three copper per potato."
---
That evening, when the moon was high and silvery above the treetops, Elena quietly slipped onto the roof outside the attic window. She unfolded the mysterious note and held it up.
At first, nothing.
Then—faintly—a shimmer. Letters emerged in pale, silvery ink beneath the original writing:
"To find the door, follow the star that doesn't move. Midnight marks the path. Be ready."
Elena's breath caught.
There was more.
And someone wanted her to find something.
She didn't know what the "door" meant. Or the "star that doesn't move." But she knew one thing.
This note wasn't just a warning anymore.
It was a map.
---
[End of Chapter 17]