Chapter 3: An Audience of One

　　The change in Violet Sorrengail was subtle, a shift in current visible only to a man who had spent two decades studying the tides of this place. She no longer entered the Archives like a fugitive seeking shelter. Now, she entered like a surveyor. Her visits became regular, her path through the stacks more deliberate. She would start in geology, a feint to any watching eyes, before drifting towards the restricted sections on advanced dragon physiology and historical battle accounts—accounts that detailed failures as well as victories.

　　Caden watched it all, a silent curator of her growing intellect. She was connecting dots, drawing lines between the volume on aerodynamics, the philosophy of persistence, and the practical challenges she faced daily. But she was reaching the limits of what she could safely access. The most useful texts were locked away, or required clearance levels far beyond a first-year.

　　It was time to escalate. But the greatest danger in guiding a sharp mind is that it begins to sense the hand that guides it. The next intervention had to be public, seemingly accidental, and devoid of any personal connection to him.

　　The opportunity presented itself during a weekly inventory check in the main reference hall—a vast, circular room under the watchful eyes of stained-glass dragons. A senior rider, Professor Markham, was holding court with a group of third-years, lecturing them on the strategic blunders of the Battle of Aritos. Violet was there, not with the group, but lingering at the periphery, pretending to study a map, her entire body angled to absorb every word.

　　Markham, a man who loved the sound of his own voice as much as he loved tactical superiority, was dismantling the decisions of a long-dead rider named Kavan. “...and so, by committing his heavier wings too early, Kavan left his flanks exposed. A classic error of overconfidence. The gryphon phalanx cut through them like parchment.”

　　Caden, pushing his cart of books to be re-shelved, felt a cold clarity settle over him. Kavan’s story was more complex. The man hadn’t been overconfident; he’d been betrayed by inaccurate intelligence. The truth was buried in a supplemental log—a fragile, unindexed diary that had been misfiled for years under ‘agricultural surveys.’ Caden had found it a decade ago. It was on his cart right now.

　　The plan formed in an instant. It was a gamble of breathtaking audacity.

　　He adjusted his route, timing his passage to intersect with Violet’s line of sight to Professor Markham. He hummed a tuneless, absent-minded melody, playing the harmless, doting old man. As he passed behind the third-years, he allowed the wheel of his cart to catch on a flagstone that he knew was uneven. It was a stumble more pronounced than the last time.

　　The cart lurched. Several books slid from the top. But not just any books. The diary, along with a heavy tome on gryphon hierarchy, slid off with a crash that echoed in the hall.

　　All conversation stopped. Professor Markham’s lecture died on his lips. Every head, including Violet’s, turned towards the source of the disruption.

　　“Clumsy old fool!” Caden muttered to himself, loud enough to be heard. He bent over, his back creaking theatrically, and began gathering the books. He made a show of being flustered, fumbling with the volumes. He held up the gryphon book, then looked confusedly at the diary in his other hand.

　　“Agricultural surveys?” he mumbled, squinting at the spine as if baffled. “No, no. This is Rider Kavan’s personal log. How in Malek’s name did this get there?” He shook his head in a perfect pantomime of bureaucratic bewilderment. “The cataloguing these days… a disgrace.”

　　He was not speaking to Violet. He was speaking to the room, a performance for an audience of one. He had just publicly, and plausibly, identified a historically significant document that had been lost due to error.

　　Professor Markham’s irritation at the interruption warred with his academic curiosity. “Kavan’s log?” he said, his voice cutting through the silence. “I thought all those were destroyed.”

　　“It would seem not, Professor,” Caden said, affecting a respectful tone. He limped over and offered the diary to Markham. “Misfiled for years, it seems. A sorry state.”

　　Markham took the diary, his eyes scanning the first page. His eyebrows rose. “This… contradicts the official account of Aritos.” He looked at his students, a new lecture forming in his eyes. “It seems the past is not as settled as we believe.”

　　For the next ten minutes, Markham lectured from the diary, outlining Kavan’s version of events—the faulty intelligence, the desperation of his decisions. The third-years listened, captivated. But Caden’s attention was fixed on Violet.

　　She had not moved. But her pose of casual interest had vanished. She was rigid, her gaze locked on the diary in Markham’s hand. He could almost see the connections firing in her mind. If the official account of a major battle could be wrong, what else was wrong? The seed of doubt, far more powerful than any specific tactic, had been planted. And it had been planted not by a shadowy informant, but by the college’s own professor, using a document discovered entirely by chance.

　　Caden, his role complete, quietly gathered the rest of his books and continued on his way, once again just the invisible archivist. He had not even looked at Violet.

　　Later, as the students filed out, he heard her voice, quiet but firm, addressing Professor Markham. “Sir… would it be possible for a cadet to access supplemental materials like that? To get a… fuller picture?”

　　Markham, still pleased with his discovery, was unusually generous. “Rigorous thinking, Sorrengail. The mark of a true rider is questioning the source. Submit a formal request to the Archives. I’ll approve it.”

　　Caden allowed himself a slow, deep breath as he shelved a book in the distant quiet. He had not just given her a book. He had given her a key. He had shown her, publicly and undeniably, that the official narrative was flawed, and he had handed her a legitimate, sanctioned method to dig deeper. He had moved her from a solitary seeker to a sanctioned researcher, all without ever exchanging a direct word.

　　The fallen knight was no longer just leaving clues in the dark. He was now manipulating the very light by which she saw the world. The risk was immense, but the payoff was greater. Her trust would now be in the process he had created, not in him. And that made her, and his secret war, infinitely safer.

　　Chapter 3 - End