They walked in silence for a while.
The old man led Rook through the winding streets of the lower district, moving with a casual confidence that suggested he knew exactly where he was going. Rook followed a few steps behind, still trying to figure out what he had gotten himself into.
'He did not need my help back there. I saw the way he was standing, the way he was watching them. He could have handled those thugs without breaking a sweat.'
But if that was true, why had he let Rook intervene? And why was he offering to help now?
"You are thinking very loudly," the old man said without turning around.
Rook blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Your footsteps changed. You slowed down when you started second-guessing yourself." The old man glanced back with a slight smile. "Relax. I am not leading you into another ambush."
"I was not worried about that."
"No? Then what were you worried about?"
he hesitated for a moment before answering. "Why you let me fight those men when you clearly did not need the help."
The old man laughed. "Sharp, I like that. I was wondering when you would ask."
"So?"
"So I wanted to see what you would do." He turned a corner, and Rook followed. "Most people in this city would have walked away. The smart ones, anyway. Getting involved in other people's problems is a good way to end up with problems of your own."
"I know."
"And yet you did it anyway."
Rook did not have a response to that.
They emerged from the alley onto a wider street, and the old man slowed his pace so Rook could walk beside him. In the better light, Rook got a clearer look at his face. He was older than Rook had first thought, with deep lines around his eyes and gray streaking through his hair, but there was something about the way he moved that did not match his appearance. He was too light on his feet, too aware of everything around him.
'He is dangerous. Really dangerous. I can feel it.'
"Where are you taking me?" He asked.
"Somewhere we can talk properly. And somewhere you can eat, since you look like you have not had a proper meal in days."
That was true enough. Rook had been rationing his food since he left home, and the last of it had run out yesterday.
"I do not have any money to pay for food."
"I did not ask you to pay."
They walked in silence for another few minutes before arriving at a small tavern tucked between two larger buildings. It was not fancy, but it was clean, and the smell of cooking meat drifted out through the open door.
The old man walked in like he owned the place, and Rook followed him to a table in the back corner. A serving girl came by almost immediately, and the old man ordered food for both of them without asking what Rook wanted.
"Now then," the old man said, settling into his chair, "tell me about yourself."
"There is not much to tell."
"Let me be the judge of that. Where are you from?"
"The Lowfields."
The old man raised an eyebrow. "That is a long way from here. What made you come all the way to the capital?"
"The academy." He saw no point in lying. "I was trying to get into Greymount."
"Trying, past tense. What happened?"
"Documentation issue. The priest who verified my papers was not a recognized authority, so they would not process my application."
The old man nodded slowly, like this was exactly what he had expected to hear. "And now you are stuck here with no money, no connections, and no way forward."
"That is correct."
"Why the academy? What were you hoping to accomplish?"
Rook looked at him for a long moment before deciding to be honest. "Money. Academy graduates get good postings after they finish their training. Officers, knights, government positions. The pay is enough to support a family."
"That is it? Just money?"
"My sister is sick. She needs medicine that I cannot afford. If I do not find a way to get it, she will die."
The old man's expression shifted slightly, something that might have been sympathy or respect, Rook was not sure which. "How sick?"
"Bad enough that she cannot leave her bed. The medicine keeps her stable, but it does not cure anything. It just buys time."
"And you thought joining the academy would give you the resources to save her."
"It was the only option I could think of."
The old man was quiet for a moment, then asked, "How long does she have?"
"I do not know. A few months, maybe longer if the medicine holds."
"And you do realize that graduating from the academy takes three years, and finding a proper posting after that can take even longer?" His tone was not unkind, just direct. "Are you sure she can last that long?"
Rook froze.
He did not have an answer. He had thought about it, of course he had thought about it, and the numbers never made sense no matter how many times he ran them in his head. Three years was too long. Even if everything went perfectly, it would still be too long.
But what else was he supposed to do?
"I know the timeline does not work," he said quietly. "I know it is not enough. But I did not have any other options, and doing something felt better than doing nothing. I thought maybe I could find another way to earn money while I am here, or something might change along the way. I do not know." He looked down at his hands. "I just know that if I gave up and went home, she would definitely die. At least this way there is a chance, even if it is a small one."
The food arrived, and the old man gestured for Rook to eat. It was simple fare, bread, meat and vegetables, but it was warm and filling. Rook had to stop himself from devouring it all in one go.
"You have no mana core," the old man said after watching him eat for a moment. "I can tell. There is nothing there."
Rook swallowed a mouthful of bread. "No. I never had anyone to train me, and I was never around anyone with enough power to awaken one naturally."
"And yet you fought those four men like it was nothing. Without any mana enhancement, your body moved faster than most trained soldiers." He leaned forward slightly. "How?"
"Years of work." He set down his fork. "Hunting, fighting, surviving. We did not have much in the Lowfields, so I had to get strong enough to take care of what little we had."
"Most people who train their bodies to that degree would have developed a core by now. Someone would have noticed the potential and helped it along."
"Nobody noticed us in the Lowfields. We were just farmers."
The old man studied him for a long moment, and Rook had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being measured for something.
"What is your name?" the old man asked.
"Rook."
"Just Rook?"
"Just Rook."
"I see." The old man leaned back in his chair. "My name is Dern Cault. I am a professor at Greymount Academy."
Rook stopped eating.
"I teach a class of students that the academy likes to pretend does not exist," Cault continued. "The ones who do not fit neatly into the system. Commoners with unusual abilities, half-bloods with mixed heritage, troublemakers who are too talented to expel but too difficult to manage. The rejects, essentially."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I think you might belong in that class." Cault smiled. "And because I can get you into the academy."
Rook stared at him. "How?"
"The documentation issue is a technicality. If a professor vouches for a student's admission, the paperwork requirements can be waived. It is meant for special cases, but it exists."
"And you would do that for me? Just because I helped you in an alley?"
"I did not need your help," Cault said. "But you did not know that when you stepped in. You saw someone in trouble and you acted, even though it could have ruined everything you came here for."
He stood up and dropped a few coins on the table.
"That tells me more about you than any piece of paper ever could." He gestured toward the door. "Come on. Let us see if you can pass the entrance exam."
Rook sat there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. This morning he had been wandering the streets with no hope and no options, and now a professor was offering to get him into the academy.
'...Alright then.'
He stood up and followed Cault out the door.