Despite her firm belief in the issue's black-and-white legality, an Assessor like Elena had a surprising measure of control over when the Awakened they inducted were to be delivered. Laws might not be suggestions, but they were written by people. People made mistakes, they carved out exceptions, and their wording could be imprecise and exploited.

Except as otherwise provided in this Act, it shall be the duty of every citizen of the Vitrian Empire, and of every other person residing in the Vitrian Empire, her provinces, colonies and territories, who, on the day or days fixed for the first or any subsequent registration, is of legal military age, has been subject to a type I-IV Awakening, is firm and capable of mind and body; to present themselves for and submit to induction at such time or times and place or places, and in such manner and in such a group or groups, as shall be determined by rules and regulations prescribed hereunder. (As amended JiShDu AUC 276, ch. 602, § 1, 55 Stat. 844.)

A textualist interpretation of the relevant statute concerning Alarion would have had him already in the clumsy hands of the Auxilia. Alarion met all the basic criteria to the black letter of the law. He had gained a level in a class that lacked social utility. He was of age, could technically speak, and could clearly defend himself. That his Aptitude was among the highest ever recorded did not matter to the letter of the law. The fact that the one-year survival rates for such inductees were below a quarter did not matter to the letter of the law.

The Auxilia was brutal and wasteful, almost by design. They held inductees to the same martial standards as Vitrian Guardsmen, but without the years of preparatory training that House members often enjoyed. Their experience was more of a sink-or-swim approach, easily separating those with actual value. Given that one of the primary goals of the induction program was to strip local populations of their combat-capable Awakened, and thus minimize the chance of rebellion, losing so many was its own form of success to many of the more hardline Vitrians.

Fortunately for Alarion, Elena was not a textualist. To the contrary, she found their kind hidebound and obstinate, more concerned with how something was written than why it had been written. They were a combination of blind followers and slick opportunists, who used minor imperfections in language to meet their preconceptions, or to draft never-intended powers and authority.

She was a functionalist, and in her eyes, this matter was so very, very clear.

The induction program was created to strengthen the Vitrian Empire and best utilize the myriad resources of the provinces and territories for the betterment of all, focusing on long-term vision. Her entire profession was dedicated to balancing the needs of the Empire, the Province, and the individual against one another. If they had a glut of newly awakened farmers, her job was to assess and reassign them.

The boy was no different, but the law here was stricter. His classes were considered Type II, non-combat, but with no real utility to the State as a crafting class might have been. He was destined for the Auxilia, but without the martial prowess to survive. He would be wasted there. Such behavior profoundly violated the spirit of the law, even if it fit perfectly with the letter.

And, of course, it would be a waste of a clear opportunity for her own House. It was not every day that a House could foster such a talent.

Elena had implied as much in her letter to the provisional governor. A long, winding, and exhaustive report on the situation that had taken her weeks to compile. Weeks that Alarion spent in her private compound, positively devouring anything he could get his hands on.

He underwent a crash course focused primarily on the Vitrian language. It was the closest thing to a common language on the continent, through a mix of conquest and commerce. Vitrian was intricate and complex, but strangely easy to grasp once they had drilled the fundamentals into his head. Neither Elena nor his language tutor was cruel enough to tell him that one of the fringe benefits of being Awakened was a vast increase in the rate at which one could learn new things, particularly languages. Or that the increased proficiency scaled with Aptitude.

Better to build his confidence.

Written language came more slowly, perhaps because he did not have an existing framework to build upon. Alarion knew enough to read and understand the basics of his Status, and the boy was as surprised as anyone when his age rolled over to fifteen during his twelfth week in Elena's care.

By then, they'd left Ashad-Vitri.

Though still incomplete nearly a decade after the Vitrian conquest, the half-constructed fortress city loomed large on the horizon as they departed into the surrounding desert. Larger still, because its gleaming towers and imposing crimson walls dwarfed the shattered, skeletal remains of what had once been known as Ashad-Mundi and was now simply known as 'The Old City'.

The scorched desert around the former Ashadi capital gave way to greener pastures as their path carried them southeast, towards the Middle Sea. Alarion had been ecstatic when he learned of their destination, for he had never seen such a large body of water. Elena, less so.

Alarion was small for his age. Scrawny, the caravan guards called him, no matter how much he ate. Only a few inches taller than Elena's five feet, his emaciated body had filled in to a healthier weight with a steady diet, but years of malnourishment had stunted his growth. Perhaps forever. A rigorous exercise routine and an Awakened body gave him a well-defined, lithe musculature, but he was more boy than man. A work in progress.

He was also rather quiet. He readily participated in his lessons and spoke when spoken to, but he rarely approached or engaged others without prompting. It wasn't shyness, but a deep introversion. He didn't avoid others; he just seemed perfectly content to be by himself, all things equal.

This was good because Elena spent a significant portion of the last leg of their journey ignoring him in favor of dry heaving over the side of the ship.

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Their travel had been uneventful, meaning they had arrived at the Vitrian port colony three days ahead of schedule. This meant that they'd arrived three days ahead of when the healer scheduled to accompany them would arrive. Elena had been forced to choose between delaying their crossing or white-knuckling the one-day sail to the Trinity Isles.

She had chosen… poorly.

<Are you alright?>

"I will live. Alarion." That the boy had inquired at all was uplifting and distressing all at once. He either cared enough about her well-being to ask, or she looked so close to death that he felt he had to. Possibly both. "And remember your tongue."

<Hmm?> Alarion asked, brows knitted together before he parsed the idiom and sheepishly added. "Oh. Right. I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry. Be better." She responded. It was an admonishment, but the sort the child knew to take in stride.

"Are we almost there?" He asked, the question made more practical than a childish 'are we there yet' by the thick morning mist that obscured sight beyond a few meters in any direction.

"I certainly hope so," Elena murmured while a finger-gloved hand fished into her well-tailored suit jacket to produce a pocket watch. "Less than half an hour now, if they kept to the timetable."

Alarion nodded and looked out over the water. They stood in silence for several minutes before he spoke again. "I'll be safe here?"

The question was enough to snap Elena's attention away from her writhing stomach, if only for a moment. Her gaze shifted to Alarion as she studied him. His attention remained on the water, his expression as passive as his tone had been when he'd asked the question.

Elena had thought long and hard about sharing her concerns with Alarion. 'Powerful factions within the Vitrian Empire will soon wish to have you killed' was the sort of sentence that would give most children nightmares. That kind of fear could hold a person back, shatter their focus, and make them lose their nerve. Yet not knowing presented its own perils, for how could anyone protect themselves from a danger they were not even aware of?

In the end, she had told him the truth. The governor had received her induction letter and had agreed to her interpretations. Black letter law demanded that an Auxilia inductee be of 'legal military age'. Vitrians held this to be as young as twelve, which was the prevailing standard throughout the Empire, including the Central Military District of Ashad-Vitri.

But Alarion wasn't found in the new capital. He was found and turned over at a watch post in the Old City. The Old City fell under provisional law, which meant that it primarily functioned under the old continental common law, a common law where the age of majority was sixteen.

It was a flimsy defense, but it was technically correct if one looked at it from the right angle.

Her reading of the law would give them nearly a year to work with. In the interim, he would be a ward of her House. They would train him, give him the capability to protect himself, and excel during his time in the Auxillia. And afterward, if the House chose to adopt him? All the better.

The decision would never hold up to scrutiny in this political climate, but it didn't have to. Some might see it as a naked power grab on her part, but it would be another month before the induction letter was returned to Vitria, buried in the quarterly reports. Even after it arrived, it would be weeks, possibly months, before anyone realized what they'd done. Then there would be counsels, debates, and, soon enough, a legal challenge to her claim. A talented solicitor could drag such a case out for months, possibly years. By the time a court properly vetted the claim, it would be moot, save for clearing up the error in her understanding for future reference.

The wheels of bureaucracy could grind exceedingly fine, but they did so slowly.

Elena felt a pang of guilt at the thought. This was bending the letter of the law almost to the point of breaking, in order to meet the spirit of the thing. It was something that tested the very values she had been born into, and the thought made her stomach lurch nearly as heavily as the waves beneath her feet.

Yet when she looked at Alarion, all she could think was the waste it would be to her people, to have this boy used and discarded like so much fodder.

"I am not sure." She admitted. "Safer for the time being than anywhere else I can think of."

Above her, the sharp chime of a bell cut through their conversation. A second later, it struck again, then a third time. Ahead of them, a beam of light stabbed out from the fog and swept across the water near their ship, searching. The bell rang once more, and this time the light settled on them.

It lingered as the water beneath them grew rougher, then positively chaotic. The deck of their cutter rose and fell along with Elena's breakfast as, moment by moment, the light grew closer. At last, the source grew near enough to be seen through the fog, an ironclad vessel four times the length of their wooden sailing ship and twice again as tall. A well-uniformed soldier on the deck saluted as he caught sight of Elena, then spoke something into his lapel.

Now that they could see one another, the two ships matched in course and direction over the next two minutes, which eased, but did not eliminate, the turbulence underfoot. The Ironclad's engines continued to churn the sea, unnoticeable to the beastly vessel, but a nightmare to the one alongside it.

Once able, they laid a ramp between the two ships. It was awkward, given the disparity in height, but that did not stop a man in white robes from rushing across. His eyes showed a certain glint of fear as he approached Elena. "Ma'am, may I?"

"Oh, Mothers, yes!" Elena said, with gritted teeth, one hand tight on the railing, as though it could support some level of dignity for her.

No further time was wasted. The man's hands shone with golden light as he made strange gestures and spoke in a low, rhythmic chant. After several long seconds, the chant ended with a declaration of "Restoration – Minor," and the man reached out to touch her.

The light flowed across the surface of Elena's frame, as though enveloping her in a golden veil. Each breath drew that light inside her body, and the color in her cheeks returned moment by moment.

"Thank the Empire," Elena whispered with a heavy sigh.

Another man descended the ramp, his grey robes and passionless expression marking him as an Ordinate. "I am sorry, Madam, we were instructed-"

"To what? Capsize the ship?" She waved away his apology. "We are minutes from shore!"

"The provisional governor has limited access to the Trinity Isles to only family, guests, and household staff." The Ordinate said, patiently. "The crew of this vessel are none of those, and cannot make landfall. We have been dispatched to carry you the rest of the way."

"Dar cannot be serious." Elena frowned. "If these men were a danger, they would have already slit the throat of the child and thrown him overboard."

Alarion gave her a look, which Elena promptly ignored.

"The provisional governor-" the Ordinate began, only to stop mid-sentence. The man's face contorted ever so briefly before he said, "Standby."

A wet, crunching sound came from the Ordinate's face as it caved in upon itself. Bones and cartilage cracked and splintered, reshaping first into a concave where a face had been mere seconds earlier. It then inflated outward over the course of a few heartbeats, taking a new visage entirely. This man was decades older, his face lined by wrinkles and scarred by battle. A well-trimmed dark beard had grown from nowhere, and the Ordinate's bald scalp had grown a neatly cut crop of graying black hair with a slight widow's peak. Every few seconds, the face rippled as a line transitioned from the neck to the forehead, correcting features that had reverted to the norm.

"The governor can indeed be serious." The man said, though the voice was all wrong. Two voices overlapping, one considerably deeper than the other. "You have dragged our House into quite a mess, wife."

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