The return to the Bastion of the Seven was a procession of contrasts. Silas Corvus walked at the head of the squad, his armor wiped clean of the worst mud, the severed, crystalline head of the Quartz Stalker swinging from his saddlebag like a gruesome trophy. He walked with the swagger of a conqueror, soaking in the awe of the younger Novices and the approving nods of the gate guards. Behind him, the two merchant-born recruits scuttled nervously, their eyes darting between Silas's proud back and the silent, mud-caked figure of Kaela bringing up the rear. Kaela walked with a limp she refused to acknowledge, the heavy training sword strapped to her back and Rust-Eater resting quietly at her hip. She felt the eyes of the Bastion on them—not on her, but on the prize. In the economy of the Guild, a dead Aura Beast was currency, and Silas was about to become a rich man.
The debriefing took place in the Hall of Records, a vaulted chamber smelling of old parchment and beeswax. A scribe, a bored-looking Adept with ink-stained fingers, sat behind a high desk. Silas slammed the Stalker's head onto the wood, the crystal teeth clicking sharply against the surface. He launched into his recitation of the battle, his voice smooth and practiced. He described the ambush, the terror of the beast, and how he had rallied the squad. He spoke of a "decisive, fiery engagement" where he met the beast head-on, matching its strength with his Flame Aura before delivering a masterstroke to the throat. He didn't lie about the killing blow, but he surgically removed the context. In Silas's version, there was no wall, no blunt-force impact that shattered the beast's balance, and certainly no girl from the slums holding the monster in place. The other two Novices stood mute, nodding vigorously whenever the scribe glanced their way, terrified that contradicting a Corvus would end their careers before they began.
Kaela stood in the shadows near the door, her face impassive. She listened to the theft of her effort without a flicker of emotion. Hagar had taught her that glory was a resource for fools, a bright light that blinded enemies to your true capabilities. Let Silas have the applause; it would only make him complacent. When the scribe finally looked at her, asking if she had anything to add, Silas turned as well, his eyes hard and warning. Kaela simply shook her head. "The beast is dead, scribe. The squad returned. The report stands." Silas exhaled, a microscopic tension leaving his shoulders, and he flashed a charming, victorious smile at the room. The scribe stamped the parchment, officially recording the victory as a solo triumph of leadership for Silas Corvus.
Later that evening, the lie began to rot. Kaela was cleaning her boots in the lower scullery when the heavy oak door creaked open. It wasn't Silas coming to gloat, but Dame Elara. The Knight didn't look happy; she looked dangerous. She held a clipboard in one hand and a piece of raw crystal in the other—a fragment from the dead Stalker. She threw the crystal onto the table in front of Kaela. It wasn't clean; one side was shattered, bearing the distinct, concave impression of a heavy, blunt impact. Elara stared at Kaela, her gaze piercing. "I inspected the carcass before it was sent to the alchemists," Elara said quietly. "Silas's rapier is a piercing weapon. It leaves clean punctures. But the beast's ribcage was hairline-fractured on the left side, and the mud on its claws suggests it was braced against an immovable object when it died." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Silas claims he overpowered it. Physics claims he had an anchor. Why did you let him steal the credit, Vane?"
Kaela picked up the crystal shard, turning it over in her calloused fingers. "Credit puts a target on your back, Dame. Silas wants to be a hero. Heroes die young in the Weald. I want to be a Sword Saint. Saints live long enough to master the blade." She tossed the shard back. "Besides, if the Guild is foolish enough to believe a Novice overpowered a Stalker with brute strength, that is a flaw in the Guild, not in me." Elara stared at her for a long moment, the stern lines of her face softening into something complex—a mixture of frustration and grim approval. She snatched the crystal back. "You play a dangerous game, girl. The Guild rewards results, yes, but it runs on reputation. Silas is building a legend. You are building a ghost story. Just remember that ghosts are easy to forget until they haunt you." She turned on her heel and left, leaving Kaela alone with the silence and the truth that she was now being watched by the only eyes that mattered.