The council chamber smelled of parchment and cold stone, with the afternoon sun filtering through narrow windows. Elias entered quietly, nodding to Hadrien, who simply said, "You've likely heard of him," gesturing in Elias' direction to the gathered councilors. There were murmurs as some glanced at him, curious about the foreigner who had survived the lord's scrutiny and now sat among them.
The session had been underway, discussing taxes, grain distribution, and village unrest. Hadrien spared no preamble; the councilors were competent, experienced, and well-informed. Elias listened first, taking mental notes of the points raised and the solutions proposed. He saw patterns—minor oversights, structural inefficiencies, and recurring complaints that could be addressed more systematically.
When Hadrien finally leaned back, his dark eyes flicking to Elias, he asked, "From your homeland's perspective… what would you do?"
All eyes turned. The council paused, polite yet skeptical. No one expected a newcomer to add anything they hadn't already considered. Elias, however, had been observing not just the reports, but the people. The heated exchange over grain shortages, the subtle discomfort of tax collectors, the silent worry etched on the clerk's brow—they all spoke volumes.
"From an outside perspective," Elias began, voice calm and measured, "some villages are chronically under-supplied because the surplus is rotated too slowly. Rather than move grain from one central storage every month, create smaller redistribution hubs closer to each village. It reduces travel, spoilage, and potential unrest."
A murmur rippled through the council, a few nods of recognition. One councilor whispered to another, noting that the solution made obvious sense once stated.
He continued, "On taxation: reports suggest certain border towns overpay while others are under-assessed. A simple ledger review, with standardized categories and regular audits, would balance the load fairly and prevent complaints. Citizens are more compliant when they see consistency."
The councilors exchanged glances. Elias had not revealed any secrets; he had only connected observations, confirmed suspicions, and framed them logically.
He paused, choosing his next point carefully. "Infrastructure also affects public morale. Streets in the lower market flood after rain, hindering trade and causing disputes. A modest drainage improvement—stone channels, water redirection—would ease commerce and reduce friction."
Hadrien leaned forward, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You observe well. And you speak plainly. I appreciate that."
Even so, not all were pleased. Whispers stirred among minor nobles and retainers: Why does this foreigner have the lord's ear? The council, competent as they were, could not ignore the novelty of an outsider confirming and extending their understanding in ways they hadn't yet articulated.
Silven, seated near the back, studied Elias quietly, noting the calm deliberation and the subtle confidence in his voice. He made no move to interrupt, but the gears in his mind were turning. Too precise. Too careful. Yet the man knows nothing of our lands… or does he?
Hadrien's dark eyes swept the room. "You see how quickly a fresh perspective illuminates overlooked issues. Take note." His tone was mild but carried weight. The council, though competent, understood that the lord valued insight wherever it came from.
Elias settled back, feeling the curious eyes and quiet envy. He had not needed magic, allies, or influence—only observation, logic, and the careful framing of what he had seen. In the midst of a competent, bustling council, he had made his mark, not by power, but by mind.
And somewhere, faintly, the mark on his arm pulsed. A reminder that while the world could be understood with reason, there were forces beyond even the sharpest intellect—forces that would not remain dormant for long.