Thunder rolled over Eldergate at dawn. Rain drizzled across the rooftops. The stone streets shone like wet steel. It was as if the sky itself anticipated the council’s decision.

Alan walked through the Royal Bureau corridor with Ressa and the escort close behind. Valen walked ahead guiding them. Torin scanned shadows for ambushers. Mira held a small healing charm ready.

They approached the towering doors of the council chamber. Darin Holt stood waiting, pale but determined. He whispered.
“Remember. Facts over fear. Speak with clarity they cannot twist.”

Alan nodded. The doors opened.

The chamber was more crowded than yesterday. More nobles. More priests. More merchants. Even foreign envoys had come to witness. Halrien’s duke sat rigid with restrained fury. Serah Arclenn sat calmly with a small smile. Varrin stood in the back disguised as a traveler, but Alan recognized his eyes instantly.

The king sat at the head of the chamber. Silent. Observant.

The High Minister stood.
“Guildmaster Alan Grove. Today the council will decide your place in this kingdom.”

Alan stepped to the center.

The questioning began immediately.
A noble shouted.
“You destabilize prices across provinces. Do you deny it?”

Alan answered.
“Prices were unstable long before Dustfall. We exposed the instability. Not created it.”

A merchant lord barked.
“You shift power to adventurers. Do you deny it?”

Alan replied.
“They risk their lives to gather mana. Fair compensation strengthens the kingdom’s labor force.”

Priest Maros slammed his staff.
“You treat mana like coin. You desecrate the divine. Do you deny it?”

Alan responded calmly.
“I treat mana with structure. Not disrespect.”

Whispers filled the hall.

The Halrien duke rose.
“Your frontier exchange makes nobles irrelevant. You form alliances without oversight. You accumulate influence. And you insulted this council yesterday.”

Torin muttered under his breath. Here we go.

The duke continued.
“You claim the frontier supports you. Lies. Frontier towns seek profit not governance. You—”

Alan cut him off with steady voice.
“Riverveil and Windbarrow stand with Dustfall. Two more towns consider alliance. That is not rumor. That is fact.”

Gasps erupted.

The duke’s face darkened.
“You build a coalition. That is treason.”

Alan shook his head.
“Cooperation is not treason. It is survival. The frontier suffers from poor routes old prices and corrupt merchants. We bring clarity. Nothing more.”

Maros stepped beside the duke.
“And clarity is dangerous.”

Alan turned to him.
“Then prove it.”

Silence.

Alan spoke louder.
“Show evidence that the exchange caused harm. Show lives lost. Show regions weakened.”

The duke slammed a scroll onto the desk.
“Yesterday a band of adventurers died after following your forecast.”

Alan replied.
“And today a new forecast includes danger ratings so no team repeats that mistake. The exchange evolves faster than old systems.”

Serah Arclenn stood.
“Dustfall’s exchange has increased trade volume by thirty percent across the frontier. Deaths from lost caravans dropped. Prices stabilized. That is measurable improvement.”

The hall shifted. Some nobles faltered.

The High Minister asked.
“And what do you propose Guildmaster Grove. If we let the exchange live what safeguards will you provide.”

Alan raised his notebook.
“Three.”

One.
“Dustfall will share simplified supply reports with the kingdom weekly. Enough for stability. Not enough for manipulation.”

Two.
“An independent oversight seat held jointly by the capital church and the Mage Tower. Observers not controllers. Watching for fraud but not dictating prices.”

Three.
“The exchange remains open to all towns with no exclusivity. No noble house gains special rights.”

The hall erupted.

Halrien shouted.
“This child demands terms.”

Alan answered softly.
“I demand fairness. For adventurers. For merchants. For the kingdom.”

The king finally rose. The hall froze.

He spoke with calm authority.
“You have given us clarity Guildmaster Grove. You have proven courage. You have shown a mind fit for shaping markets and restraint fit for leadership.”

Halrien protested.
“But he forms alliances. He undermines nobility.”

The king raised a hand.
“Enough. I have heard enough.”

He stepped toward Alan.

“The Dustfall Mana Exchange shall be recognized as an official frontier institution. Independent. Protected. Observed but not controlled. Its guildmaster shall answer to the crown in matters of national crisis but retain autonomy in trade.”

Shock rippled across the chamber.

The king’s eyes met Alan’s.
“You win your place today. Earn it every day after.”

He turned.
“This council is concluded.”

The nobles stood stunned. Priests murmured reluctantly. Merchants muttered calculations. The church delegation glared. Serah Arclenn smiled subtly. Varrin smirked from the back like he knew this would happen.

Alan exhaled slowly.

Ressa grabbed his shoulder. You did it. You actually did it.

Valen bowed lightly. History was made today boy.

Darin Holt smiled with relief.

But Alan was not smiling.

Because he noticed something no one else did.

A shadowed figure slipping out of a side door. A glint of silver on their cloak. Halrien’s emblem. And a second glint beside it.

A dagger.

The decision was not the end.
It was the beginning.

The capital would not simply accept Dustfall’s rise.
Someone would strike again.
Soon.

Alan whispered under his breath.

“Dustfall is safe for now. But I am not.”