The morning sun poured into the library like melted gold through the arched windows, warming the scent of parchment and ink. Elena Virelle, now a semi-permanent fixture at the corner desk by the third window, rubbed her temple with ink-stained fingers as she blinked blearily at the open ledger in front of her.
"Tax ledgers are emotional," she muttered, eyes stinging.
Across from her, Librarian Maud glanced up, unimpressed. "They are numbers. If you're crying, you're either sleep-deprived or sentimental."
"Both," Elena whispered. Her sleep debt could fund a small kingdom.
She had been buried in books again—this time focusing on trade regulations and local tariffs. At first, she thought the study of economics would be about gold coins and grand profits. Instead, she found herself mourning over inconsistent wheat tariffs and a collapsed local mint scandal from twenty years ago.
The town of Aerilyn had once tried issuing its own silver-backed currency, the Moonmark, to reduce dependence on the capital's coin. It failed spectacularly when the silver reserves were "mysteriously" shipped out during a harvest festival.
"The treasury official was last seen entering a pie-eating contest and never returning," Maud said flatly, pointing to a footnote.
Elena's lips twitched. "Do they think he drowned in pie?"
"Or fled with the treasury. The jury is still out."
---
By midday, Elena needed a break. She stretched her arms high and stumbled outside into the courtyard garden. The air smelled of thyme and stone. The pay she earned as an assistant scribe—a modest 18 copper crowns per day—barely covered her dorm bed and two plain meals. But thanks to Maud's request, she now had partial meal vouchers at the Scholar's Hall.
It was still tight.
Daily Expenses Summary:
Dorm bed: 6 copper/day
Basic meal (porridge, bread, water): 5 copper (lunch + dinner)
Candle + ink ration: 2 copper/day
Leftover: ~5 copper
Five copper. Enough for a small fruit tart or one fine quill. Not both.
Worse, she learned that apprentices under nobility made around 25–30 copper per day, sometimes with bonuses in silver for translation work. But those were students sponsored or born into merchant families.
Still, Elena wasn't discouraged. She had something better than noble status: unrelenting curiosity and a terrifyingly stubborn work ethic. And apparently, a new mystery.
Because that note from weeks ago? The one with the odd constellation symbols and half-burned parchment? It had vanished.
Well, not entirely. A new note appeared yesterday tucked between the pages of a book she hadn't even borrowed yet. It was in the same strange ink—shimmering faintly, as if drawn with starlight—and this one had a message:
"You saw the stars once. Do not forget where they pointed."
Elena hadn't told Maud or anyone. She kept it in her sash pocket, running her fingers over it when her thoughts drifted too far from the present.
Stars? What stars?
---
By late afternoon, she sat through a lecture given by Scholar Thorne on the cost of magical transportation. It was unexpectedly riveting.
"Teleportation gates are not cheap," he said, pacing in front of the amphitheater. "One permanent gate linking two cities costs no less than 800 gold crowns to install, not counting upkeep. That is 8000 silver, or 80,000 copper."
Elena choked slightly on her borrowed inkwell.
"Which is why only royalty and trade guilds use them regularly," he added, waving a chalk.
She scribbled fiercely:
Magic Transport Costs:
Permanent gate (city-to-city): 800 gold
Temporary portal scroll: ~15 gold (consumed on use)
Caravan hire (non-magical): 2–3 silver for 10 days' journey
The margin for merchants was razor-thin, unless they traded enchanted goods, rare herbs, or Starleaf, which apparently was now regulated and taxed by weight.
---
When she returned to her desk that evening, she found a small pouch resting atop her ledger. Inside: 3 silver crowns and a note.
"Good work on the tariff index summary. You saved us three days' effort. Consider this an early stipend. —Maud."
Elena blinked.
Three silver. That was more than a week's wage in one go. She clutched the pouch like a relic.
She could save it…or buy a better cloak. Or ink that didn't smell like fish.
No. Save it. If she could gather enough silver, maybe she could afford a single portal scroll one day. A contingency plan.
After all, who knew what else might vanish in the night?
---
The Price of Cake and Conspiracies
The aroma of roasted nuts and honey filled the morning air as Elena Virelle found herself elbow-deep in dough, flour dusting her arms like war paint. She had offered to help Aunty Myra prepare the bakery's new honey-nut bread—a special order for one of the wealthier merchant households.
"I swear, Elena, you've got a knack for kneading," Aunty Myra said, rolling dough beside her.
"I'm just trying not to turn it into glue," Elena replied, her forearms burning slightly. "So this order is for the Marcelles?"
"Mm-hmm. They pay in full and tip in silver," Aunty Myra said with a wink. "And they gossip in buckets. Apparently, the merchant's youngest daughter is courting some noble brat. I'd bet half a sack of flour it ends in tears."
Elena laughed but felt a slight pang—nobles, marriage, families—it was a world she'd once belonged to but no longer had access to.
While the loaves baked, Elena spent her break nibbling a cooled honey bun and reading a borrowed volume titled Historical Accounts of the Eastern Collapse. It detailed the fall of the Tarethian Empire, which had once ruled the continent with an iron fist and a gold-plated treasury.
"...The collapse, they say, began not with war, but with poisoned coinage," she muttered aloud. "Devaluation schemes, mass inflation, then famine. Huh."
"Interesting reading over sweets?" came a familiar voice.
Liora stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, her arms crossed. She wore a dark cloak, dusted with ash from her latest delivery run.
"You smell like firewood and danger," Elena teased.
"I'll take that as a compliment." Liora stepped in, snatching the honey bun from Elena's hand and taking a bite. "Mmm. Dangerous and sweet. Like me."
"You're lucky I like you," Elena said, rolling her eyes.
Liora's smile faded slightly as she glanced at the open book. "The Eastern Collapse. That's... heavy reading."
"I need to understand this world if I want to live in it," Elena said, more serious now. "Economies collapse when trust is broken. When greed outweighs reason. Sound familiar?"
Liora nodded, then sat across from her. "There's a rumor in the southern quarter. Some warehouse was raided, but nothing stolen. Just... moved around. Like someone was looking for something specific."
Elena remembered the folded note she'd hidden in her room. It had simply read:
Not everything lost was forgotten. The stars remember.
She hadn't told Liora about it. Not yet.
"I think someone's trying to uncover things best left buried," Liora said quietly.
"Or things we need to remember," Elena countered.
They sat in silence for a moment before Aunty Myra's voice interrupted from the kitchen, "Elena! You done wooing your firefly girl? These cakes won't frost themselves!"
Liora smirked. "Firefly?"
Elena groaned and got up. "She's been calling you that since she saw your coat spark in the sun. Just... don't encourage her."
---
Later that evening, after delivering the Marcelles' bread order and receiving exactly one silver and three copper in tip, Elena sat by her attic window, watching the city lights flicker like stars. She jotted down a list of items and earnings:
1 day bakery work – 8 copper
Marcelle tip – 1 silver, 3 copper
Book return reward (from Old Kiren) – 4 copper
Total: 1 silver, 15 copper
Bread and cheese would cost her 5 copper tomorrow, with tea leaves at 2 copper if she wanted to indulge.
She tucked the note from Chapter 10—now slightly creased from frequent handling—into her journal. Its words echoed in her mind.
The stars remember.
Whatever that meant, she had the sense it wasn't about astronomy.
A gentle knock came at her door. It creaked open, and Liora's head poked in. "I brought cake. Leftovers from the nobles who think it's beneath them to eat a second-day slice."
Elena grinned. "Tragic. I'll take their sorrow."
As they shared the cake—too sweet, too rich, too perfect—Elena couldn't help but feel that even the tiniest crumbs of sweetness were worth savoring.
Especially when the future might not always be so kind.
---
Never Trust a Rat With a Clipboard
Elena hadn't expected a rat—an actual rat—to be her guide through the Licensing Hall.
"Name?" squeaked the rat as it stood on the front desk, barely the size of Elena's boot. It wore a tiny vest stitched from worn parchment and spectacles clearly made from cracked glass beads. It held a clipboard almost half its size.
Elena blinked. "Um... Elena Virelle."
"Occupation?"
"Apprentice... maybe? I work under Mistress Caldra, mostly cleaning and reading."
The rat scribbled something on the clipboard. Its claw made little tapping sounds against the surface.
"Purpose of visit?"
"I need a basic labor license. To work outside the Guild, legally."
The rat squinted at her like it was judging her life choices. "Hmf. One of those. Follow me."
It scurried off across the desk, leapt down a crack between the shelves, and vanished. Elena stared at the empty air.
A second later, a trapdoor creaked open behind her.
The rat's voice echoed: "Down here! Mind the sixth step! It bites."
---
The Licensing Hall was much larger underground than it appeared from the outside. It sprawled like a buried courthouse, all stone pillars and faintly glowing glyphs. Bureaucracy had a smell, and it was mold, ink, and despair.
Dozens of other hopefuls stood in slow-moving lines. A half-orc complained loudly about his form being in "Triplicate, not Triform!" while a harried elf clerk blinked at him from behind a pile of mismatched stamps.
Elena's rat guide—who, she learned, was named Ratchester P. Whitetooth, Licensal Adjutant Third-Class—led her to a window marked: First Time Labor Certifications and Notary of Intent.
"You got three options," he said, climbing onto a stack of books to reach the counter. "General Labor, Apprentice-Class, or Sponsored Journeyman."
Elena furrowed her brows. "What's the difference?"
Ratchester sniffed. "General Labor lets you do basic tasks—farming, cleaning, carrying crates, no magic. Pays about 5 copper a day, more if you don't die. Apprentice-Class requires a Guild or Master to sign your sponsor papers. Covers things like potion brewing, rune-copying, magical maintenance. Usually pays 12 to 20 copper a day, depending on skill and hazard pay. Sponsored Journeyman means you're skilled, specialized, and legally vouched for. But you're not there yet, sweetheart."
"I'll go with Apprentice-Class. I have Caldra's signature."
He snatched the signed slip from her hand with surprising speed, sniffed it, then bit the corner.
"Verified," he muttered. "Ink's fresh. Her 'C' curls are a nightmare, but that's her."
After half an hour of paperwork, a mana-glow ink pad, a minor oath-swearing (involving a ceremonial broom), and a payment of 1 silver crown for the license itself, Elena walked out with a brass token that read: Licensed Laborer, Apprentice-Class, Valid in Lower Orlaith until 12th Moon.
Ratchester saluted her with his clipboard. "Congratulations. You're legally underpaid."
---
The license immediately changed things. Mistress Caldra gave her a 3-crown bonus that week and said, "Now if the Inspectors come sniffing, I won't have to bribe them with pickled eels."
With her new credentials, Elena also started running errands between nearby alchemical supply shops, a job that paid 2 copper per delivery. She was slow at first, but once she memorized the winding alleys and learned not to step on anything glowing green, she made up to 8 deliveries a day.
16 copper a day from errands.
20 copper from Caldra's base wage.
Plus the occasional bonus when she translated something from ancient script or sorted live reagents without losing a finger.
After a week, she'd saved up almost 3 silver crowns.
Enough to buy a second-hand cloak (1 silver, threadbare but enchantment-resistant), a sturdy ledger (8 copper), and a bowl of roasted root-dumplings from the tavern near the canal (2 copper, spicy and suspiciously crunchy).
She even had a few coppers left over to tuck into a cracked teacup by her bedside, labeled: Library Fund.
---
That night, Elena pulled out the folded note she had tucked into her pillowcase.
The one written in spidery ink:
"The stars do not forget their fallen."
Follow the trail of the Forgotten Light.
Now that she had coin to spare and more freedom to move around the city, she figured it was time to start investigating. But carefully.
She turned the note over. Someone had scribbled tiny symbols along the edge—glyphs she didn't recognize.
Tomorrow, she'd ask Mistress Caldra if she could study them. Maybe say it was homework. Or a prank. Anything but the truth.
Because something in her bones told her the truth wasn't safe.
---
[End of Chapter 20.]