The war in the south was bleeding the Church dry.
Raziel knew it because the supply wagons arriving at St. Celeste carried less food and more bandages every week.
He also knew it because minor academies near the border were shutting down, unable to defend themselves from the rebel attacks.
That morning, a wooden transport wagon stopped in the center of the main courtyard.
Father Marius stood by the gates, leaning on his dark wooden cane and didn't look happy.
The director needed numbers to replace the apprentices lost in the St. Sophia disaster, but taking in refugees from failed academies was a desperate move.
Raziel watched from the second-floor cloister.
Fifteen novices climbed down from the wagon.
They wore dusty gray robes and carried small canvas bags, most of them looked terrified, they were kids who had seen the war up close and just wanted a safe place to sleep.
