After supper on the seventh night, the long pine table in the hospice dining room was cleared of soup bowls to make room for the formal proof rolls. Under the steady glow of three oil lamps, Master Bren of West Scree and Instructor Yul of Pine Ford laid out their cross-signed test charts beside Vaska Ren’s itemized inventory of the dismantled bronze sockets and copper wall conductors.
Daro Kesh hobbled to the end of the table with his cedar-braced leg stiff and tapped the palm-sized fragment of the split inner hub with his knuckle. He listened to the dull, dead clink it made against the pine boards. For a practical teacher who distrusted grand spirit claims, the physical scrap metal and the independent sight readings satisfied every requirement. The mountain’s forcing machine had been broken by specific martial actions and verifiable choices. That left no unclear truce behind.
Even Nara Soth paused in the kitchen doorway with a clay mug of roasted barley tea in her right hand. When Soran confirmed for her that the rotted door beams had been pulled down and no guard stone or memorial plaque had been left in the northern chamber, the ancient Crown challenger nodded once in quiet test before returning to her bench by the hearth.
