The walk to the disciplinary board was remarkably peaceful.
Which felt wrong.
Very wrong.
Normally, after creating enough paperwork to personally offend an entire administrative department, one would expect considerably less peace.
Instead, the academy remained annoyingly beautiful.
Students crossed pathways.
Birds sang.
The sun shone.
Life continued.
As though I wasn't currently on my way to discover exactly how expensive poor decision-making could become.
The injustice was staggering.
I was still contemplating this when a familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Benjamin."
I stopped.
Then turned.
Castor stood beneath the shade of a silverleaf tree.
Tall.
Slender.
Around six foot three.
His black hair was cut short and neat, carrying a faint blue sheen whenever sunlight touched it.
Purple eyes watched me calmly.
The unmistakable mark of his Elder Three-Eyed Crow Bloodline.
Several black feathers rested behind both ears.
Most people assumed they were decorative accessories.
They weren't.
The feathers were real.
Just like the draconic scales currently visible along my neck and forearms.
Unlike me, Castor rarely displayed obvious bloodline traits.
The feathers were enough.
His dark skin contrasted sharply against the pale academy uniform he wore.
Among the Ashford siblings, only the two of us had inherited our mother's complexion.
Not that anyone in Peroza was foolish enough to make an issue of it.
"Big brother."
Castor folded his arms.
"You're late."
"The hearing starts in twenty minutes."
"Exactly."
I frowned.
"That doesn't make any sense."
"It doesn't need to."
A fair point.
An annoying point.
But fair.
We began walking together.
Students stepped aside almost immediately.
Not because of me.
That much was obvious.
Rank Two of Galia Military Academy tended to have that effect.
Especially when he was also considered one of the greatest young artificers in the Empire.
Information traveled quickly.
Reputation traveled faster.
For several minutes neither of us spoke.
The silence wasn't awkward.
It was simply normal.
Eventually I glanced sideways.
"You came all the way here just to escort me?"
"No."
I waited.
Castor continued walking.
Then:
"I came to make sure you didn't somehow get arrested before reaching the disciplinary board."
"..."
"..."
"That sounds like a lack of confidence."
"It sounds like experience."
I couldn't argue with that.
Which was unfortunate.
The disciplinary board building looked exactly like a place designed by people who enjoyed paperwork.
Large.
White.
Intimidating.
Every window somehow radiated disappointment.
Several professors waited inside.
Along with academy officials.
And one healer.
The healer looked tired.
Deeply tired.
Existentially tired.
I suspected I knew why.
The hearing itself lasted nearly two hours.
Most of it consisted of testimony.
Statements.
Reports.
Witness accounts.
Evidence.
The false accusation collapsed quickly.
Apparently academy officials took that sort of thing extremely seriously.
The second-year student responsible for starting it received punishment almost immediately.
Her accomplice wasn't in any position to attend.
Which seemed reasonable.
The board then turned its attention toward me.
That was significantly less reasonable.
Eventually a verdict was reached.
No suspension.
No expulsion.
No rank penalties.
No restriction from future challenges.
At first this sounded promising.
Then they continued speaking.
And continued.
And continued.
And somehow kept finding new ways to ruin my day.
Six months of disciplinary labor.
Mandatory counseling sessions.
Property damage compensation.
Medical compensation.
Emergency response compensation.
Courtyard restoration fees.
Blood cleanup fees.
Administrative processing fees.
Administrative review fees.
Administrative review processing fees.
I was beginning to suspect they were inventing charges.
Then came the final punishment.
"You will also participate in academy dungeon cleanup duty."
I blinked.
"Dungeon what?"
"Dungeon cleanup."
I stared.
The professor stared back.
"Dungeon cleanup."
"That sounds suspicious."
"It isn't."
"That answer made it worse."
The professor smiled.
The smile somehow made it even worse.
I immediately decided that dungeon cleanup was probably terrible.
Experience suggested this was the correct conclusion.
By the time the hearing ended, the sun had already begun descending toward the horizon.
The academy grounds glowed gold.
Students moved between buildings.
Life continued.
Meanwhile, my finances had been publicly executed.
I checked my Student Crystal.
Then checked it again.
Then a third time.
Surely there had been a mistake.
There wasn't.
The fines alone had consumed 95% of my total allowance.
A tragedy.
A catastrophe.
A crime against economics.
I walked beside Castor in complete silence.
Then another realization struck.
A horrifying realization.
Far worse than counseling.
Far worse than labor duty.
Far worse than dungeon cleanup.
I stopped walking.
Castor sighed immediately.
A man recognizing an approaching disaster.
"What."
"My allowance is dead."
"Tragic."
"It was murdered."
"It committed suicide."
I ignored this slander.
"Big brother."
"No."
"You don't even know what I'm going to ask."
"I do."
"Think you could help your cute little brother out?"
Castor resumed walking.
"No."
"Heartless."
"Correct."
"My future is at stake."
"Your future punched someone into a medical report."
That was a very biased interpretation of events.
Unfortunately, he refused to acknowledge this.
For the next twenty minutes I launched a relentless campaign.
Logic.
Emotion.
Family loyalty.
Guilt.
Shameless begging.
Selective memory.
At one point I may have reminded him that I was technically his favorite younger sibling.
"You are my only younger brother."
"Exactly."
"That is not the argument you think it is."
It absolutely was.
Eventually Castor stopped walking.
Not because I had convinced him.
Because he was tired.
A subtle but important distinction.
With the expression of a man surrendering to natural disaster, he reached into his coat.
Then tossed something toward me.
A silver storage ring.
I caught it instantly.
Perhaps a little too quickly.
Castor noticed.
"That reaction suggests you've been planning this."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Liar."
I ignored him and inspected the ring.
Then checked its contents.
Then froze.
"..."
"..."
"...Castor."
"What."
"There is enough money in here to last me two years."
"Probably."
I stared.
He looked completely unconcerned.
Then again, this was Castor Navir.
Rank Two of Galia Military Academy.
The greatest artificer of his generation.
The richest Ashford sibling by an absurd margin.
The man had stopped accepting Father's allowance years ago because he earned more money from inventions than most nobles saw in a lifetime.
To him, this probably qualified as loose change.
"You're ridiculous."
"So I've been told."
I slipped the ring onto my finger.
My financial crisis had ended.
Life was good again.
Castor sighed.
"I already regret this."
"You won't."
"I absolutely will."
Fair.
Probably.
Together we continued toward the dormitories.
One brother burdened by responsibility.
The other burdened by absolutely nothing anymore.
A tragic family story.