The safe-house behind the waterfall was abuzz with the news of Valerius's humiliation. The mood was lighter than Alex had ever seen it.
"The people are calling it the 'Day of the Ghost's Justice,'" a young woman named Elara said, her eyes sparkling as she sharpened her dagger. "They say the White Wraith didn't just steal gold; he stole the Quillord's pride."
Corbin, however, was not celebrating. He sat by the fire, his face etched with grim lines. "Pride is a dangerous thing to steal from a snake. It makes it strike without thinking. The response will not be measured. It will be absolute."
As if summoned by his words, a scout slipped into the cave, his clothes damp with mist. "Corbin. A message from the deep network. From the capital itself."
Corbin took the sealed scroll. He broke the wax and read, his frown deepening. He finally looked up, his gaze finding Alex.
"It seems your performance has earned you an invitation," Corbin said, his voice low. "Not from a friend."
"Who?" Alex asked.
"The Lexicon. The one who first named you."
"He's in Oakhaven," Alex stated, a cold knot forming in his stomach.
"He's moved on. Promoted. He's now a proctor at the Aethelgard Scholarium. The most prestigious academy for Law-weavers on the continent." Corbin let the words hang in the air. "He's issued a formal challenge. A public one."
Elara stopped sharpening her knife. "What kind of challenge?"
"He says the 'anomaly' is a fascinating intellectual puzzle. That to hunt a ghost with soldiers is brutish and inefficient. He wants to hunt you with logic. He's challenged the White Wraith to prove his intellectual superiority, not just his power." Corbin tossed the scroll to Alex. "He's dared you to infiltrate the Scholarium itself. To walk into the lion's den and learn from the masters you seek to destroy. He believes you cannot hide your nature in a place where every thought is measured against the Law."
Alex read the elegant script. The words were polite, academic, and dripping with condescending challenge. '...a true understanding of a phenomenon requires observation in a controlled environment. I provide you the ultimate control. Come and be studied, or remain in the shadows and confirm you are merely a beast, not a mind.'
"He's mad," Elara breathed. "It's a trap. The most obvious trap in history."
"Of course it is," Alex said, his voice quiet. He looked from the scroll to the faces around him. "But he's also right."
Corbin's eyes narrowed. "Boy—"
"What do we truly know, Corbin?" Alex interrupted, standing. "We know stories. We know fragments. You've taught me to see the bars of the cage, but not who built it, or why. You said it yourself, I need to understand the prison to break it." He held up the scroll. "This is the key to the prison's library. The Lexicon is arrogant. He thinks his control is absolute. He thinks he can dissect me without me learning how to dissect him in return."
"You'll be surrounded by Quillords, Lexicons, and the most gifted Law-weavers of the next generation," Corbin argued. "One slip. One moment where your control falters and you nullify a classroom demonstration by accident, and you're finished."
"Then I won't slip," Alex said, a fierce determination in his eyes. "I'll become one of them. I'll learn their language so perfectly that they'll never hear the chaos in my words."
Elara stood and walked over to him. "It's suicide, Alex."
He met her gaze. "Staying out here is a slower death. For me, and for this rebellion. We need more than just stories and small victories. We need the truth that they keep locked away in that place."
A long silence filled the cave, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
Finally, Corbin let out a long, weary sigh. "How? The entrance exams are legendary. They test for innate affinity, lineage, knowledge of the Great Laws..."
A slow smile spread across Alaric's face, the former scribe. "Not entirely," he murmured. All eyes turned to him. "There is one path. The Patron's Gambit. A noble house can sponsor a candidate of exceptional, if... unorthodox, talent. Bypass the standard tests. It's a rarely used rule, meant to allow for rare geniuses who don't fit the mold."
"And which noble house will sponsor the White Wraith?" Elara asked, incredulous.
Alaric's smile widened. "Not the White Wraith. A persona. A young man from a distant, minor noble family. A bit rustic, but with a raw, intuitive grasp of Law-theory that borders on the preternatural. A diamond in the rough, perfect for a master like the Lexicon to polish." He looked at Alex. "It will require a new mask. Not of leather, but of manners and intellect. It will be the most difficult role you have ever played."
Alex looked at the scroll in his hand, then at the expectant faces of his comrades. The path was clear, and terrifying.
"Then we begin," Alex said, his voice firm. "Tell me about this 'Patron's Gambit.' And start teaching me how to be a noble."
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