Webs of Influence

The great hall glowed with torchlight, marble columns reaching up into dark beams that framed the ceiling like ribs around a beast. Tables of polished wood lined the cavernous space, laden with fruits and platters of exotic meats.

Elegant banners representing every house hung from the walls, their vibrant colors and heraldry speaking of ancient pride and factional rivalry. Every eye in the hall watched the main dais where the Guild Council was about to announce changes.

Izen stood at the edge of the hall among other second-year students, the stopwatch hidden in his palm and the gauntlet gleaming faintly on Mira's arm beside him.

The air hummed with tension and whispered speculation. Everyone here sought change—some for power, others for survival. Tonight, the balance would shift.

At the center of the dais, twelve council members took their seats. Their robes varied in color and cut, each subtly reflecting allegiance or lineage. The lead speaker, Lady Corienne of House Drake, stepped forward. Her voice was calm but resonant, demanding attention.

"Welcome," she began. "Tonight we address the restructuring of class divisions within the academy. Effective immediately, students' social status will be officially recognised." She paused, letting the words land like stones in a pond. "We will formalize aristocratic tiering. Membership in certain clubs, mentoring access, and housing privileges will now be aligned with house representation."

Clusters of tutors videoed reactions with devices, while nobles nodded in approval. A murmur rippled through the crowd: opportunity for some, outrage for others.

Izen's mind raced.

This was precisely what Alaric and Victor needed—centralization of influence at the top and tightening of patronage. He glanced at Victor, standing tall with his followers, confidence smoldering like embers in his gaze.

Mira's fingers tightened around his arm. "This is bad for us," she whispered. "They're cutting off our options."

Izen exhaled softly. "Not if we make new ones." He felt the stopwatch pulse, a reminder. Influence could be net gained—not just lost.

After the announcement, the crowd dispersed into tight groups. Conversations erupted: some praised the move for clarity, others fumed about increased rigidness. Izen drifted toward the edge where fewer eyes watched, seeking Mira and Dalen.

"You saw how Lady Drake framed it," Izen said quietly. "They want to legitimize privilege under the guise of structure."

Dalen nodded. "Where does that leave us?"

Izen met his gaze, expression steady. "Flying under the radar isn't enough. We need alliances with people who can't be bought easily." He paused. "We need value."

That evening, Izen found the House of Alaric's banner—a dark gray standard with silver thorn designs—flying on a side balcony. Victor was conversing under it with other nobles. Their voices were low but edged with self-satisfaction after the official announcement. Izen quietly followed Mira as she tracked him from a distance.

Inside, Victor outlined his plan: "Our houses will control the mentorship programs. We'll absorb the second-year students and gain exclusivity. The council won't oppose us directly—they need our cooperation."

A woman at Victor's side, Lady Therin of Alaric, nodded. Fully supportive. Not a peer anymore—but a co-conspirator.

Izen listened, silent and calculating.

After Victor dismissed the group, Izen approached Mira who held the gauntlet-covered hand tightly. She smiled faintly and whispered, "Time to act?"

He gave a slow nod. "We have two options. One: go to House Drake. Offer something they want—information, loyalty, value. Two: start building our own network quietly."

Mira considered, her brown eyes steady. "We don't have time to build a faction. We need influence fast."

Izen smiled—a patient, dangerous curve. "Then we bargain."

The next day, Izen petitioned a tutor assigned to Lady Drake, a middle-aged man with gray-streaked hair named Tutor Marov. He found him in the grand library, reviewing documents by candlelight. Izen approached deliberately, the surreal hush of the library adding gravity to every step.

Tutor Marov looked up, surprised. "Izen. What brings you here?"

Izen sat. "I want to help. I can gather intelligence on House Alaric's moves, share reports of new alliances and tactics."

Marov's eyebrows rose. "That's risky information. But my mistress values honesty."

Izen nodded. "And I want structure, not subservience."

By midday, Marov had given Izen an assignment: observe Alaric meeting areas and report occurrences discreetly. Izen's mission began in earnest. He shadowed interactions at meals, sparred with duplicates acting as scouts, and recorded whispered plans in his mind. He reported in person that evening, offering Marov the most salient points: Victor consolidating a group of ambitious third-years, Alaric recruiting some tutors secretly, alliances forming across noble lines.

Marov's expression vacillated—with concern, then satisfaction. He finally said, "You're shrewd, for a second-year. Lady Drake will pay attention."

Izen felt a quiet thrill—he was no longer invisible, but useful. The stopwatch ticked against his hip as he left.

That night, Mira met him in the snow-bright courtyard. "They're listening," she said. "You've made contact."

Izen studied her face. She was proud, but afraid. "Good," he said. "Now we must leverage it."

They plotted paths and people. Students on the cusp of status—fearful or disillusioned with the new structure—could pivot. Tutors wary of Alaric and Victor could be persuaded. Power lay in data and timing—two things Izen had in his favor.

Days passed in a flash of diplomacy. Izen cultivated small touches: delivering messages to House Drake, whispering clarifications to a few second-years unsure of their future, being seen in conversation with tutor Marov in public spaces. All the while, he listened. Shrewd words from Silas, caution from Dalen, queries from Mira. The stopwatch's presence in his mind sharpened every moment.

He also tested small power uses: slowing time mid-conversation to respond more persuasively, giving only half a heartbeat of advantage. No traces, but a mental edge.

He was stacking influence like coins in a chest.

A week later, at a private gala thrown by House Drake, Izen arrived under Marov's introduction. The ballroom was lavish—frescoed ceilings, polished tiles, music playing in hushed harmony. Carved tables glowed with food fit for nobles. Everything about the night claimed wealth, but the quiet voices behind glasses tasted like rival plans.

Lady Corienne greeted Izen with a slight nod. Her gaze appraised him—curious, evaluating. "You've done well," she said quietly. "You've shown initiative. That is rare."

Izen accepted graciously. "I just want the academy on a path that doesn't crush ambition."

She smiled, a sharp curve. "Then let us walk it together."

By regularly attending such events, sharing selective intelligence—and with subtle persuasion— Izen began to build his own low-key coalition. Mira's skills with the gauntlet protected him in moments of risk. Tutors aligned with House Drake became allies. A few cautious second-years joined.

Victor responded. Izen heard whispers on the periphery of Victor's entourage—concerns about Izen gaining influence. Victor now saw him as a rival, not a curiosity.

Izen didn't mind. Rivalry was a stage he understood.

Late one night, Victor cornered Izen near the northern archways.

"You think you're playing a game," Victor said quietly. "But you're starting a war."

Izen met his gaze. "Not a war. A course correction. The academy needed structure, but not stifling hierarchy."

Victor laughed soft and low. "You belong to no house. No bloodline."

Izen smiled. "I belong to truth. And that terrifies you."

They stood, inches apart. Then Victor walked away.

That walk back left Izen breathless—not from fear, but excitement. He realized he was steering this narrative now. Politics, not just power, would define who ruled the academy. His stopwatch could save a life or turn a precise outcome—but only his alliances would hold long-term influence.

Mira met him at the dorm entrance. She asked, "Is it over?"

Izen shook his head. "It's just begun." He tapped the stopwatch. "Time to build the future."