Chapter 152. Parent-Teacher Conferences

The mission was given. The die was cast. Now, the game needed players.

Adom sat behind his desk in his office, a stack of student progress reports spread before him alongside his appointment schedule. Parent conferences. Every three months, before the break periods, titular professors met with student families to discuss progress and address concerns.

But his mind wasn't on academic evaluations. It was on people.

Damus was the obvious first choice. House Lightbringer carried significant weight in Imperial politics, and while Duke Jasper maintained the careful neutrality that kept powerful families alive, there were cracks in that facade. Blood ties to the emperor meant little when those ties came with constant political pressure and increasingly unreasonable demands. Jasper had been growing visibly frustrated with Imperial policy over the past few years, though he was far too experienced to voice those frustrations in public.

The duke's son, however, was a different matter entirely. Damus had inherited his father's political instincts but not his patience. He'd been making carefully worded comments about Imperial overreach for months now, testing the waters, seeing how far he could push without crossing into outright sedition.

When the time came to choose sides, Adom was reasonably confident he could bring House Lightbringer into the fold. Assuming, of course, that he could present them with a viable alternative to the current mess.

Karion Dimitri presented a more complex challenge. House Dimitri had built its considerable wealth and influence by staying scrupulously neutral in political conflicts, maintaining their warrior traditions while carefully avoiding entanglement in broader Imperial politics.

Their wealth came from two dungeons gifted to them by the 109th Emperor, a grant meant to last until the end of times. The steady flow of magical resources and rare materials from those dungeons had made them one of the most financially secure houses in the empire, but it also meant they had little incentive to rock the boat.

But neutrality only worked when all sides respected it. The emperor's recent policies had been squeezing the merchant classes harder each year, and even House Dimitri's considerable resources couldn't insulate them from the broader economic damage. Karion had been carefully noncommittal during their recent conversations, but Adom had caught glimpses of genuine concern beneath the diplomatic surface.

The trick would be convincing him that supporting Morgana's claim represented a path to stability rather than revolution. Frame it as a return to proper order rather than a radical change, and House Dimitri might be willing to throw their considerable resources behind the effort.

Then there was Naia. As the daughter of the Tirajin ambassador, she represented a potential bridge to foreign support that could prove invaluable if things escalated to open conflict. Ever since the war with Farmus and its allies began, Tirajin had been growing increasingly uncomfortable with Imperial border policies, and their military capabilities were nothing to dismiss lightly.

More importantly, Naia herself had proven remarkably adept at navigating complex political situations. She understood how to read people, how to present information in ways that achieved desired outcomes, how to build coalitions from competing interests. Skills that would be essential once they started trying to build broader support for Morgana's cause.

These three friends weren't just potential allies. They were crucial pieces in the larger game that was about to unfold. Which was why he needed them with him when he left the empire's borders. Better to have these conversations face-to-face, away from Imperial surveillance, where they could speak freely about options and implications.

And since he was already making a team...

Sam was already a given. No question there.

Gus brought druidic abilities that could prove invaluable for travel in unknown territories. And Mia's alchemical expertise might be the difference between success and disaster if they encountered hostile magical effects.

Emma was one of the most skilled healers he'd encountered, and a few years of additional experience had only sharpened her abilities. In a mission that might involve significant physical danger, having someone who could patch people up quickly and efficiently was essential.

Eren, though... that was more complicated. The young man was the Archmage's disciple, which meant any decision to include him would need explicit approval. Taking someone else's student into potentially lethal situations without permission would be a serious breach of protocol.

He'd have to discuss that particular decision with the Archmage before finalizing the team roster.

Just like that, Adom had his expedition members mapped out. An expedition that had been decided three months ago, though it felt like the conversation with Kim and the Archmage had happened yesterday.

Funny how time worked. You could spend weeks feeling like nothing was happening, and then suddenly everything accelerated and you realized you'd been building toward this moment for longer than you'd consciously understood.

"Professor Sylla?"

Adom looked up from his desk to find one of his students standing in the doorway, flanked by two adults who were obviously her parents. The woman shared her daughter's sharp features and intelligent eyes, while the man carried himself with the sort of careful posture that suggested military background.

He'd been aware of their arrival, but the weight of his mental planning had kept him focused on more pressing matters.

"My apologies," he said, standing and gesturing toward the chairs arranged in front of his desk. "Please, come in. I was just reviewing some notes."

The first set of parents arrived precisely on time, which should have been Adom's first warning.

Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood sat down across from his desk at exactly the same moment. Mrs. Blackwood clutched a leather portfolio thick enough to contain either extensive notes or a small weapon.

"Professor Sylla," Mr. Blackwood began, speaking to him as if he were a particularly young-looking substitute teacher. "We have some concerns about Marcus's progress."

Adom glanced at his notes. Marcus Blackwood. Solid student, turned in assignments on time, participated in class discussions without being disruptive. Most teachers would be grateful to have thirty students exactly like him.

"Marcus is doing well," Adom said. "His runic comprehension is above average, and his practical applications show steady improvement."

Mrs. Blackwood opened her portfolio and extracted a sheet of parchment covered in neat handwriting. "We've prepared a list of supplementary exercises we'd like you to implement. Marcus needs to be challenged more rigorously if he's going to qualify for advanced placement next year."

Adom looked at the list. It contained enough additional homework to occupy a student for several extra hours each day. The academic load would turn learning into a grinding endurance test.

"Mrs. Blackwood," he said carefully, "Marcus is already performing at the top ten percent of his class. Adding this much extra work might actually harm his understanding of the fundamentals."

"Harm?" Mr. Blackwood's eyebrows rose. "Professor, with respect, you look barely old enough to have graduated yourself. Perhaps you don't fully understand the competitive nature of academic advancement."

There it was. The age comment he'd been expecting since the semester started.

"I understand it perfectly," Adom replied, keeping his voice level. "I also understand that overloading students often produces the opposite of the desired result. Marcus is learning well at his current pace."

Mrs. Blackwood smiled sharply. "Perhaps we should discuss this with the department head. Someone with more... experience."

Adom leaned back in his chair. He could feel his patience beginning to fray, but he kept his expression neutral. "That's certainly your prerogative. Though I should mention that my teaching methods have been reviewed and approved by both the Archmage and Headmaster Merris."

The mention of those names had the desired effect. Mr. Blackwood's posture shifted slightly, and Mrs. Blackwood's grip on her portfolio loosened.

"Of course," Mrs. Blackwood said, her tone becoming noticeably more diplomatic. "We're simply concerned parents who want the best for our son."

"I understand completely," Adom said. "And I want the best for Marcus too. Which is why I'm not going to assign him enough extra work to burn him out before winter break."

The Blackwoods left with polite smiles and obvious frustration. Adom made a mental note to keep an eye on Marcus for signs of additional pressure at home.

The next appointment went smoother. Mrs. Chen arrived alone, settled into her chair, and listened attentively while Adom explained her daughter Lin's progress.

"She's doing excellent work," he said. "Creative problem-solving, asks good questions, helps other students when they're struggling. I'm particularly impressed with her approach to defensive rune sequences."

Mrs. Chen smiled. "Lin has always been interested in protection magic. Ever since she was small, she wanted to keep everyone safe."

"It shows in her work. She has real intuition for structural reinforcement patterns."

"Professor," Mrs. Chen said, leaning forward slightly, "may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"You're very young to be teaching at this level. That must be challenging."

Adom braced himself for another lecture about experience and qualifications.

Instead, Mrs. Chen continued, "Lin was so excited when she learned you'd be her professor. She said having a teacher closer to her own age might make it easier to ask questions without feeling foolish."

"I hope that's true," Adom said, genuinely pleased. "I try to remember what it felt like to be learning this material for the first time."

"It must help that you went through the same programs so recently. You understand the pressure they're under."

Mrs. Chen left with a warm handshake and thanks. Adom found himself hoping more parents would share her perspective.

They didn't.

The Hendersons arrived twenty minutes late and immediately began apologizing for everything their son had ever done, was currently doing, or might conceivably do in the future. Tommy Henderson was actually a decent student, but his parents had apparently convinced themselves he was one step away from academic disaster.

"We know Tommy can be a handful," Mrs. Henderson said before Adom could speak. "If he's causing problems, please don't hesitate to assign detention. Or extra assignments. Or whatever punishment you think appropriate."

"Tommy isn't causing problems," Adom said. "He's a bit chatty during lectures, but he's engaged with the material and his test scores are solid."

Mr. Henderson looked skeptical. "Are you sure? His previous teachers always had complaints."

Adom glanced at his notes again. Tommy participated enthusiastically in class discussions, sometimes got excited and interrupted others, but showed genuine curiosity about runic theory. His energetic engagement could be channeled productively.

"I think Tommy learns better when he can discuss concepts out loud," Adom said. "I've been having him work through problems verbally sometimes. It helps him organize his thoughts."

The Hendersons exchanged glances as if he'd suggested their son might actually be intelligent.

"He's really not failing?" Mrs. Henderson asked.

"He's not even close to failing. He's in the middle of the grade distribution and improving steadily."

They left looking confused but relieved. Adom made another note, this one about checking whether Tommy's previous teachers had been giving him appropriate encouragement.

Lord Kestwick arrived with an entourage.

Not metaphorically. He'd brought two advisors, a secretary, and what appeared to be a personal guard. They arranged themselves around the office as if he was holding court rather than discussing his daughter's academic progress.

"Lord Kestwick," Adom said. "Thank you for coming."

"Professor Sylla." Lord Kestwick spoke as if he was conferring a great honor by acknowledging Adom's existence. "I trust Lyanna is performing adequately."

Lyanna Kestwick was performing considerably better than adequately. She was one of his strongest students, particularly talented with complex geometric rune patterns that most students struggled with until their seventh year.

"Lyanna is doing outstanding work," Adom said. "Her understanding of advanced runic mathematics is exceptional."

Lord Kestwick nodded as if this was exactly what he'd expected to hear. "The Kestwick family has always excelled in academic pursuits. Lyanna is continuing that tradition."

One of the advisors leaned forward and whispered something in Lord Kestwick's ear.

"My advisor reminds me that you're remarkably young for a professor," Lord Kestwick said. "The Ghost of Xerkes, correct? We followed your... exploits... with interest."

Adom tensed slightly. When nobles started talking about following your exploits with interest, it usually meant they were considering whether you might be useful to them.

"I'm here to teach runicology," Adom said carefully. "Lyanna has real talent in that area."

"Indeed. Tell me, Professor, what are your thoughts on practical applications of runic magic in military contexts?"

There it was. Lord Kestwick wasn't interested in his daughter's education. He was interested in whether the Ghost of Xerkes might be willing to develop weapons for House Kestwick.

"I focus on theoretical foundations and defensive applications," Adom said. "Military applications aren't part of the standard curriculum."

Lord Kestwick's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. Though I imagine someone with your... background... might be interested in consulting opportunities."

"I'm quite busy with my teaching responsibilities."

The conversation continued for several more minutes, with Lord Kestwick probing delicately for any sign that Adom might be available for hire. Adom deflected each attempt while trying to keep the discussion focused on Lyanna's actual academic progress.

Lord Kestwick gathered his entourage and moved toward the door, then paused and turned back.

"One more thing, Professor," he said. "I've been doing some research on my daughter's new teacher. Fascinating to discover you're related to Lord Howl Lionheart."

Adom blinked. "He's my grandfather. Though we've been estranged. My mother never kept contact."

"Ah, yes. Family politics can be... complicated." Lord Kestwick's expression shifted to something more genuinely interested. "I knew Howl quite well, actually. We served together on several Imperial committees decades ago. He used to talk about his daughter occasionally, wondered what became of her after she left. And he was curious about what his grandson might look like."

"I see."

"You have his eyes, you know. Same intensity. Same intelligence behind them." Lord Kestwick smiled, and for the first time it seemed genuine. "He'd be proud, I think. His grandson is quite the fine young man."

"Well, thanks," Adom said.

Lord Kestwick nodded and left with his entourage.

Adom stared at the closed door for a moment. He'd never really thought about his grandfather as family. Never thought about him at all, actually. His mother had forbidden even uttering her family name from when he was very young. She'd left when her father threatened to kill her if she married his father. They'd had no contact ever since, and Adom had never really cared.

How very strange, then, that the old man had been keeping an eye on him.

Oh well.

The afternoon wore on. Parents who treated him as a celebrity and asked for autographs. Parents who lectured him about discipline and proper educational standards. More parents who seemed surprised that their children were capable of learning anything at all.

Mr. Aldric arrived drunk and spent fifteen minutes complaining that his son Stefan wasn't being challenged enough, despite Stefan's recent tendency to fall asleep during lectures. Mrs. Brightwater brought a list of questions about the curriculum that demonstrated she'd confused runicology with herbalism. The Cromwell family showed up with their son in tow and proceeded to have a loud argument about his future career plans while Adom sat there wondering if he should intervene.

By the time evening approached, Adom was beginning to understand why some professors avoided parent conferences altogether.

Then he heard a knock on his door. A distinctive one.

Three sharp raps, followed by a pause, then two more. Confident but not impatient.

Adom looked up from his notes about the Hendersons and felt something shift in his chest. He knew that knock. Had heard it countless times in his previous life, usually when he was buried in research and losing track of time. Lysandra had always knocked exactly like that before entering his workspace to drag him to meals or remind him about war meetings he'd forgotten.

But that was years in the future. They hadn't even met, yet.

"Come in," he called, setting down his quill and trying to keep his voice steady.

The door opened slowly. A woman stepped into the room, scanning his office setup methodically. Dark hair streaked with premature silver. Sharp green eyes that catalogued the arrangement of his books, the positioning of his desk, the way he'd organized his runic reference materials.

She moved like someone accustomed to walking into rooms and immediately understanding how they worked. How the people in them worked too.

Behind her, a second figure hesitated in the doorway. Vivian, clutching a small notebook and clearly wishing she could disappear into the wall.

"Professor Sylla," the woman said, stepping forward and extending her hand. "I'm Lysandra Kallistrate."

Adom stood, his chair scraping against the floor. He reached out to shake her hand, trying to process the surreal experience of meeting someone who had been his mentor and colleague for years. Someone who, right now, had no idea who he was beyond his reputation as the Ghost of Xerkes.

"I believe you've met my daughter," she continued.

Her handshake was firm, professional. The same grip he remembered from dozens of formal introductions in his previous life, when she'd presented him to other researchers or military officials as her assistant.

Except now he was the professor, and she was the parent visiting during conference hours.

"Yes," Adom managed. "Vivian is one of my strongest students. Please, have a seat," he gestured to the chairs. Lysandra settled herself comfortably while Vivian perched on the edge of her chair, still clutching her notebook.

"Vivian has been telling me wonderful things about your classes," Lysandra began. "She's particularly excited about the advanced applications you've been covering."

Adom glanced at Vivian, who had turned slightly pink. "She has real talent for spatial runic relationships. Most students struggle with three-dimensional projection patterns, but she grasps them intuitively."

"She's always been good with abstract concepts," Lysandra said. "Though I have to admit, some of the work she's brought home has been quite impressive. More advanced than I expected for someone her age."

"I believe in challenging students when they show they're ready for it. Vivian's ready."

Lysandra nodded approvingly. "Good. Too many teachers hold students back out of caution." She paused, studying him. "You're quite young to be teaching at this level, but you clearly know your material."

"Thank you."

"Actually," Lysandra continued, "I'm familiar with some of your published work. Your paper on runic resonance frequencies was quite insightful. Not many people understand the mathematical relationships involved."

"You've read my research?" He asked, as if he hadn't published them two months ago just to attract her attention.

"I've read most of your papers, actually. Your approach to theoretical frameworks is... refreshing." Lysandra leaned forward slightly. "I'm working on some research myself into defensive runic layering systems. Ways to stack protective enchantments without causing interference patterns."

"That's complex work," Adom said. "The energy distribution calculations alone must be challenging."

"Exactly. I could always use another brilliant mind to bounce ideas off of." She smiled. "Someone with your theoretical background might find it interesting."

"Actually," Adom said carefully, "I've been working on something related. Optimization patterns for runic efficiency. Perhaps we could discuss our research sometime."

Adom knew Lysandra. Where to poke. What to say. Would she take the bait?

"I'd like that very much. When were you thinking?"

There.

"I'll be traveling for a few weeks on research," Adom said. "But perhaps when I return? We could schedule something."

"Perfect. I should be free around then as well." Lysandra stood, extending her hand again. "Thank you, Professor. For everything you're doing for Vivian. And for the potential collaboration."

Vivian finally spoke up. "Thank you, Professor Sylla."

Adom shook Lysandra's hand, then nodded to Vivian. "Keep up the good work."

They left, and

Adom sat in the silence of his empty office, staring at the clock on the wall. The brass hands showed half past seven, and the last echoes of footsteps had faded from the corridors outside.

His mind went blank for a moment. Just... quiet. The weight of the day's conversations, the careful political calculations, the surreal experience of meeting Lysandra again—all of it seemed to settle into stillness.

He sighed deeply, the sound filling the empty room.

Three weeks. The students would have three weeks to breathe, to rest, to forget about runic theory and geometric applications and all the pressures their parents seemed determined to pile on them. Three weeks of freedom before the winter term began.

And three weeks for him to find Morgana.

His team was already mapped out in his mind. Sam, of course. Damus, Karion, and Naia—if he could convince them to join. Gus with his druidic abilities, Mia with her alchemical expertise, Emma with her healing skills. Maybe Eren, if the Archmage approved.

The last confirmed sighting had been in Silvandros, deep in elven territory. Morgana had been purchasing weapons there—elven steel was renowned throughout the known world, and their shipwrights crafted vessels that could navigate the most treacherous waters.

If she was gathering supplies for whatever came next, Silvandros would be the logical place to do it. That had been two weeks ago, according to the intelligence reports he received from his network.

Getting to Silvandros meant taking the road through the Thornwood Passes, winding mountain paths that cut through dense forest and rocky terrain. The journey would take them past ancient watchtowers and through valleys where morning mist clung to the trees like ghostly fingers. They'd cross the Windmere Bridge, assuming the recent storm damage hadn't made it impassable, then follow the elven trade routes into their territory proper.

From there, he'd have to start asking questions. Two weeks was a long time for a trail to go cold, but Morgana had a tendency to make impressions on people. Someone would remember her. Someone would have seen which direction she'd headed when she left.

She was giving him quite a lot of work to do.

Adom leaned back in his chair and allowed himself a small smile. Three weeks of real adventure ahead. After months of academic politics and parent conferences, the prospect felt almost liberating.

He'd always wanted to visit the elven lands, actually. In his previous life, he'd never gotten the chance—the wars had destroyed most of their cities before he could make the journey. The dangers of mountain trolls and unstable bridges were there, certainly, but nothing he couldn't handle with his current abilities.

It was time.