By evening, the Great Hall had absorbed more tribute than any single room reasonably should.
The Empire's nobility had spent the day arriving with gifts calibrated to the specific weight of demonstrating loyalty to the crown without appearing to overreach into ostentation — bolts of mana-silk, sealed cases of antique scrolls, alchemical compounds that most of the assembled families would never have access to outside an occasion exactly like this one. The marble floor near the reception dais had become, by sundown, a genuine accumulation of imperial wealth.
He had spent most of the evening in the Annex rather than the Great Hall, which suited him considerably better. The conversation among his team's families — quiet, unguarded, the kind that didn't require managing — was worth more to him than the formal reception's wine and performance.
Sloane and Isolde's absence sat at the table like a deliberate gap.
The border situation had not improved over the seven months; if anything, the reports he'd been receiving suggested the Solarian Empire's probing activity had increased, opportunistic pressure testing the perimeter while Valeria's attention was elsewhere. Security had been raised accordingly, which meant the Blackwells' presence at the frontier was, this month, not negotiable.
He felt the distance of it in the quiet between stories — a low awareness, the specific frequency he'd learned to associate with his grandparents being somewhere he couldn't immediately reach. He held it without letting it become the evening's centre. They were doing the work that made evenings like this possible for everyone else.
"Phase 2 holds," he said, to the team, once the conversation had settled into a natural pause. "What I want to propose next is a live test — not another simulation, an actual supervised mission. I've identified a Tier 1 portal dungeon with beast density peaking right at the Tier 2 threshold. That's the range where Rosalind's foundation gets tested by something that isn't calibrated to her — real unpredictability, real stakes, the kind of pressure a training hall can't replicate."
The team listened with the specific attention they'd developed across a year of working together on things that mattered.
"I want the four of you as her support unit for the descent," he said. "Not because I doubt you'd protect her — I know you would, completely, without hesitation. That's exactly why I need to be specific about the parameters. I don't want her shielded from every engagement before she's had the chance to act. She needs room to actually use what she's built over the past seven months, with you positioned to intervene the moment anything moves past what we've agreed is the safe threshold — not after."
Rosanne was the first to respond, with the directness she'd earned the right to use with him.
"Define the threshold," she said. "Specifically. I'm not running point on this with a vague sense of 'intervene when it feels bad.'"
"Fair," he said. "Health threshold at seventy percent for any single engagement. Anything that drops her below that, you're in immediately, no hesitation, no waiting for her to call it. Mika and Donna hold the perimeter watch — Shiela's hemographic range gives us advance warning on anything approaching that isn't already engaged. Jessica's on rapid response if the extraction protocol triggers."
"And you," Rosanne said.
"I'm there," he said. "Spatial sense running at full radius the entire time. If something goes wrong faster than the threshold can catch it, I'm the actual failsafe. I'm not asking any of you to be the only thing standing between her and a mistake. I'm asking you to let her make the kind of decisions in real combat that only get made under real pressure, with a net underneath that's wide enough to actually work."
The team absorbed this — not with the grim resolve of people steeling themselves for something harsh, but with the specific professional consideration of practitioners weighing a plan's actual mechanics.
"Seventy percent is conservative," Donna said. "Good. I was worried you were going to say something lower."
"I considered it," Markus admitted. "I decided conservative was the correct place to start. We can adjust the threshold downward in future sessions if the data shows she's consistently outperforming it with margin to spare. We don't start there."
"I'll talk to the Emperor about it tonight," he said. "He'll have questions about the parameters, and he should — it's his daughter, and I'd think less of him if he simply waved it through. I want his sign-off on the threshold numbers specifically, not just the general concept."
He left the Annex with the team's understanding settled and walked into the ballroom's gilded noise with the specific patience of someone managing a transition he didn't particularly enjoy but understood the value of.
Rosalind found him within minutes — the formal Princess composure she'd been holding all evening softening into something genuine the moment she registered who'd arrived.
"The champions of the Spires," she said, reaching the team and greeting each set of parents in turn with the specific warmth of someone who understood, more than most nine-year-olds could, exactly what it meant to raise a practitioner capable of what these particular teenagers were capable of.
Markus gave her a brief nod and made his way toward the dais.
Valerian saw him coming and angled himself slightly, the specific gesture of someone making room in a crowd for a conversation he expected.
"Your Majesty," Markus said, quiet enough that the music covered it from the surrounding nobility. "Phase 2 is complete and stable. I'd like to move to a live supervised test — a real dungeon, monitored, with a specific safety threshold the team will enforce. I want your approval on the parameters before we proceed, not just the general plan."
Valerian's expression sharpened into the specific attentiveness he reserved for things that actually mattered to him.
"Walk me through the threshold," he said.
Markus did — the seventy percent health floor, the rotation of support roles, the spatial sense as the final failsafe, the specific dungeon he'd scouted and the beast density data behind the selection.
Valerian listened to all of it without interrupting, and when Markus finished, he was quiet for a moment.
"Seventy percent," he said. "Not sixty."
"Seventy," Markus confirmed. "I'd rather start conservative and adjust based on real data than the reverse."
"Good," Valerian said. "That's the answer I wanted to hear." He looked toward where Rosalind was talking with Mika and Donna, her posture animated in a way the formal court rarely produced from her. "Finalise the parameters with the security office in the morning. I want the extraction protocol documented and the dungeon's full threat assessment on my desk before you go in." He looked back at Markus. "You understand why I'm being thorough about this."
"I'd be concerned if you weren't," Markus said.
Valerian's mouth curved, briefly, into something that wasn't quite a smile but was adjacent to one.
"Go enjoy the party," he said. "That's an order, not a suggestion. Even you don't get to spend an entire birthday running risk assessments."
Markus returned to where the team had gathered, and found that the evening had moved on without him into its own informal ceremony.
Rosanne had a spatial storage pouch ready — not decorative, the genuine practical kind, calibrated for emergency supplies rather than ornament. Mika and Donna presented a set of reinforced leather bracers etched with stabilisation runes, the kind of gear that mattered considerably more in an actual dungeon than anything from the Great Hall's mountain of tribute.
Rosalind took each of them with the specific gravity of someone receiving something that meant more than its market value suggested.
"These are for the dungeon," she said. It wasn't a question.
"They're for whatever you need them for," Rosanne said. "But yes. Mostly that."
Rosalind looked at the bracers, turning them over to read the stabilisation runes' inscription.
"Thank you," she said. "All of you." She looked up, including Markus in the statement with a glance. "I know what tomorrow's conversation with my father is going to be about. I appreciate that you're taking it seriously enough to argue about the threshold numbers instead of just deciding for me."
"You'll have a say in the threshold too," Markus said. "Tomorrow. This isn't a plan we're handing you finished."
She nodded, and the evening continued — the Annex's quiet warmth a counterpoint to the Great Hall's distant glitter, the team settled around her with the specific ease of people who had decided, collectively, that whatever came next, they were going in together.