"Rich people complain about money too. The difference is, their complaints won’t kill them."
***
He rewrapped his spear with care. Each strip of leather went exactly where it belonged, following the pattern his father had taught him on his tenth birthday.
The ritual provided comfort. A tangible connection to home and to the weathered man with scarred hands who had taught him that a weapon’s true worth lay not in how much gold it cost or how pretty its decorations. It lay in the hands that wielded it.
A masterwork blade in the hands of a fool was just expensive scrap metal. A simple spear in the hands of a master was death incarnate.
His walk back toward the dormitories took him past areas where early-rising students had begun to gather. Through windows that glowed with warm lamplight, he glimpsed the other houses preparing for the day.
Aurum students in their gold-trimmed uniforms of pristine white. Already radiating the casual confidence of people who had never doubted their place in the world. Laughing over elaborate breakfasts of eggs and bacon and fresh pastries.
Argent members huddled around books and scrolls in their navy and silver. Conversations hushed and intense. Plotting and scheming even at this early hour.
Even the reclusive Vermillion students in their deep crimson commanded respect when they passed. Their ancient bloodlines worth more than any amount of skill or effort.
Unlike House Onyx.
The perpetual underdogs who couldn’t buy respect at any price. The charcoal grey and dull bronze marked him as one of the unwanted. The discarded. Students deemed unworthy of better placement.
Some wore the colors with defiant pride. Most wore them with shame.
Rhys wore them because he had no choice.
In the dining hall, the aroma of fresh-baked bread and sizzling bacon hit him the moment he stepped through the doors. His empty stomach twisted painfully with hunger he couldn’t afford to satisfy.
The hall was vast. Several hundred students at long tables arranged by house. A serving counter along one wall where food was dispensed according to what you could pay. The ceiling soared overhead, painted with scenes of heroic battles and noble sacrifice that seemed to mock everyone who couldn’t trace their lineage back to the figures depicted there.
Rhys scanned the menu board. Did the calculations he had done every morning since arriving. The numbers were burned into his memory, but he checked them anyway.
Hot porridge with honey: fifteen copper pieces.
Fresh eggs and bacon: twenty-five coppers.
A single roll with butter: eight coppers.
Tea with milk: five coppers.
He felt the small leather pouch in his trouser pocket. Its meager weight a constant reminder of just how precarious his situation had become.
Seven silver pieces remained. A handful of copper coins that rattled accusingly whenever he moved. Seventy copper pieces total.
Enough for basic meals for perhaps another week. Maybe two if he skipped lunch most days.
After that...
He didn’t let himself finish the thought.
"The porridge, please." His voice came out carefully neutral. He counted out exact payment and slid the coins across the counter.
Fifteen coppers. Not a single one more.
The serving woman, a heavyset matron with grey-streaked hair, slopped the grey mixture into a chipped bowl without looking at him. Her attention already moved to the next student in line.
A blonde Aurum girl with perfect curls and a dress that cost more than his entire village earned in a season.
"Eggs, bacon, toast with butter, fresh juice, and oh, are those raspberry pastries? Two of those as well."
The girl didn’t even glance at the prices. The coins that appeared on the counter were gold, not copper.
A single one would have fed Rhys for a month.
He found an empty corner table. Positioned himself where he could observe the entire hall without drawing attention. Old habits. Never sit with your back to a door. Always know where the exits are. Watch for threats before they become dangerous.
The academy wasn’t a goblin-infested forest, but the predators here were no less real. They just wore finer clothes and used words instead of cleavers.
The porridge tasted bland, grey, and slightly gritty. But it filled his stomach. That was all that mattered. Food was fuel.
Around him, conversations flowed. Complaints about professors being too demanding. Excitement about upcoming social gatherings at noble estates. Casual mentions of allowances that exceeded his entire term’s budget.
"Can you believe it?" one Argent student grumbled to his companion. "Father only sent fifty gold pieces this month. Fifty! How am I supposed to manage?"
Fifty gold pieces. Five thousand copper. Enough to pay for Elara’s treatments for nearly half a year. Enough to buy a new spear, new clothes, books, and still have plenty left over.
And this boy was complaining.
Rhys focused on his porridge and said nothing. Let his expression remain blank. Resentment was a luxury he couldn’t afford either.
"Mind if I sit?"
The voice was soft. Hesitant. Belonged to someone who expected rejection but asked anyway.
Rhys looked up to find Seraphina Valois standing beside his table. A massive leather-bound tome tucked under one slender arm. Her breakfast tray balanced somewhat precariously in her other hand.
Her silver hair was pulled back in a practical braid that hung past her shoulders. Ink stains marked her pale fingers. The unmistakable sign of someone who actually did their own writing instead of having servants transcribe their notes.
He had noticed her before. In Theoretical Foundations class. Hard not to notice the way her grey eyes brightened when Professor Delacroix explained complex concepts. How she leaned forward during difficult passages while other students’ attention wandered.
She was smart. Clearly smarter than most. And she was Onyx, like him. Which meant someone had decided she wasn’t worth placing anywhere better.
He had also noticed that she was pretty. In a quiet, understated way that didn’t demand attention but rewarded it if you happened to look.
The thought annoyed him. He couldn’t afford to notice things like that.
"Table’s full," Rhys said without looking up from his porridge.
Seraphina glanced pointedly at the four empty chairs surrounding him. Her gaze traveled from one vacant seat to the next before returning to his face.
Understanding replaced the tentative hope in her features. Something in his chest tightened at the sight.
"Right. Of course." Her voice didn’t waver, but he heard the hurt beneath the careful control. "Sorry to bother you."
She moved away without another word. Found a seat at another table where a pair of Onyx students grudgingly made room for her.
Rhys caught himself watching from the corner of his eye as she set down her tray and opened her book. Advanced Mana Theory and Practical Applications. Third-year material. Far beyond what first-year students were expected to study.
She either had ambition beyond her station or was trying to prove something to someone.
Either way, it wasn’t his problem.