The geography lecture hall in the Royal Academy of Silpatra was a cavernous room lined with ancient maps—yellowed parchments etched with Ether inks that shifted faintly to show borders and trade routes.
Dust motes danced in the slanted light from high windows, and the air smelled of old paper and chalk.
Instructor Liran Voss—Harlan's older brother, a scholarly man with a voice like rustling leaves—stood at the front, pointer in hand.
He was not a fighter like Harlan, but a former diplomat, tasked with teaching the cadets the fragile web of alliances that kept the Eldran continent from descending into chaos.
"Peace," Liran began, tapping the massive central map, "is not forged in battle. It is bought and sold. The twelve kingdoms of Eldran trade to survive. Without exchange, monsters would claim us all—or worse, we would claim each other."
The class—thirty Monster Extermination cadets—leaned forward with varying interest.
Most doodled borders or whispered about the latest rumors from the sparring yard.
Jade slouched in the back row, feet up, carving a crude monster into her desk.
Kael sat beside her, staring blankly at the map's swirling colors.
Liran continued, voice steady.
"Our own Silpatra Kingdom dominates the central highlands—militarily strong, Aura-rich, but resource-poor in luxuries. We export weapons, trained legions, and Ether crystals. In return, we import what we need from the others."
He pointed east.
"Delta, on the crystal coasts—masters of reflection and illusion. They sell us mirrors, scrying glasses, and polished gems that amplify Ether. Without their trade, our academies would be blind to distant threats."
Southward.
"Sanville, the grain plains—endless fields fed by river Auras. They provide wheat, barley, and staple crops. Starvation ends wars before they begin."
North.
"Maki, the beast herds—vast ranches where Aura-tamed livestock roam. They sell us meat: beef, lamb, boar, and exotic cuts from border monsters. Their glutton festivals are legendary, but their trade keeps our soldiers fed and strong."
At the word "meat," Kael's head lifted.
Slowly.
His gray eyes fixed on Liran.
For the first time in any lecture, he paid attention.
Jade noticed, elbowed him.
"Waking up, prince? Finally something worth hearing."
Liran didn't see, continuing westward.
"Zahcher, the iron forges—mines deep in volcanic mountains. They trade ore, steel, and forged tools. Our blades come from them."
Further north.
"Chronis, the time-weavers—Ether specialists who craft clocks, calendars, and preservation artifacts. They sell us stability: preserved foods, timed wards against monster migrations."
He rattled off the rest, pointer dancing.
"Vellor, the silk spinners—fabrics and threads infused with protective Auras.
Taryn, the herb gardens—potions, medicines, and poisons.
Quorin, the wine valleys—ferments that boost morale and diplomacy.
Elynd, the scholar archives—books, scrolls, and forbidden knowledge, traded sparingly.
Riven, the river merchants—control the waterways, taxing all barge trade.
And finally, the outer isles of Nethar—exotic spices, sea beasts, and rare pearls from the depths."
Liran stepped back.
"These trades bind us. Disrupt one—Maki's meat shipments halt, Delta's mirrors shatter—and peace crumbles. Monsters wait at every border, intelligent and patient. We trade to endure."
The class murmured, some taking notes.
Kael hadn't moved.
His eyes were still on the map—specifically the red blob labeled Maki.
Meat.
From there.
He mouthed the word silently.
Liran noticed the unusual focus.
"Cadet Silpatra. A question?"
Kael blinked.
"Meat."
Liran frowned, then nodded.
"Yes. Maki's primary export. Vital for our protein needs, especially in wartime. Good observation."
Jade snorted softly.
"First time he's right."
To demonstrate trade goods, Liran passed around samples—small items from each kingdom.
A Zahcher iron ingot.
A Chronis pocket clock.
A Delta mirror—hand-sized, polished to perfection, framed in silver.
When the mirror reached Kael, he took it carefully.
Stared into it.
Saw his own face—gray eyes, dark hair, grease from breakfast still on his chin.
The reflection stared back.
Kael tilted his head.
The reflection did too.
He raised a hand quickly.
The reflection matched.
Faster.
He jabbed at it—cheetah speed in a finger poke.
The reflection kept up.
Kael frowned.
Tried again—fly reflexes snapping his hand left, right, up.
The mirror-self mirrored every move.
A game.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
He would be faster.
Jab. Twist. Wave.
The class began to notice.
Snickers rippled.
Liran cleared his throat.
"Cadet, the mirror is for observation, not—"
Kael ignored him.
He reached into his pocket for a strip of dried boar—leftover from last night's secret roast.
Bit into it while staring.
Chewed.
The reflection chewed too.
Kael stopped.
Leaned closer.
Where was the reflection's meat?
He turned the mirror over.
No meat.
Flipped it back.
Poked the glass harder.
Crack.
The mirror splintered under his finger—gorilla strength accidental.
Shards fell.
Kael picked one up, peering into the back as if expecting hidden food.
"Meat?" he muttered.
The class erupted in laughter.
Jade howled, slapping the desk.
Liran sighed deeply.
"Cadet Silpatra… that was a Delta import. Priceless."
Kael set the broken shard down.
Looked at the map again.
Maki.
Meat.
For the first time, something stuck.
Deep beneath the Grand Temple of Piera, far from the academy's laughter, nine hooded figures gathered around the silver sphere.
Thalion, the eldest Archivist, called the meeting to order with a trembling hand on the relic.
"The null child grows bolder. He shattered the Crown Prince yesterday—over food. The palace stirs. We must act."
Sereth, the Hand, leaned forward.
"Act how? We know he is the key, but the method eludes us."
Thalion brushed the sphere.
Images flickered—impressions of the old world, before the cataclysm.
"Remember the truth we guard. The systems we call Aura and Ether—these are the bindings that sustain us. They grant power, but at a cost: human lifespans shortened to two hundred fifty years at most. Before, we were eternal—flesh enduring forever, no decay."
Murmurs rippled.
A younger Voice—a courtier in disguise—spoke.
"Eternal? Why bind us then?"
Thalion's voice deepened, persuasive, eyes gleaming in the pale light.
"To survive the break. Without the bindings, humans weaken—vulnerable to the ancient species that once hunted us. Dragons. Beasts. And worst: the Great Immortal Sea, that vast entity beneath the waves, devouring all who stray too far."
He paused, letting fear settle.
"But I can control it. The Sea answers to old blood like mine. Remove the bindings—set the world free—and we return to eternity. Power beyond kings. Lifespans without end."
Sereth frowned.
"And the weakness? We become food?"
Thalion smiled thinly.
"Not if we lead. The null child is the tear in the fabric. Through him, we unravel it all. Humanity will thank us—once they see the glory of true freedom."
The circle nodded slowly, eyes distant, convinced.
No one questioned how Thalion knew the Sea's secrets.
No one saw the ambition behind his words—power not shared, but seized.
Brainwashing complete, wrapped in the guise of salvation.
The sphere dimmed.
Above, in the lecture hall, Liran collected the broken mirror shards.
Class dismissed.
Kael walked out beside Jade, mind on Maki.
Meat from far away.
For the first time, the world felt bigger.
And hungrier.