The smell of boiled turnip greens and cold machine oil drifted across the wet flagstones of Stone-Willow Lane.
Kaelen Vance sat back in a wicker rocking chair beneath the low cedar eaves, chewing on a roasted melon seed.
A steady drizzle pattered against the roof tiles, splashing into the clay rain barrel near the kitchen door.
Inside his mind, the grey slate pulsed with a quiet, orderly rhythm.
[The Fallow Slate: Stage 2 (Tri-Track Accumulation)] [Track 1 (Cultivation Vessel): 224h 00m / 720h (225x Multiplier Active)] [Track 2 (Martial Combat): 84h 00m / 720h (85x Multiplier Active)] [Track 3 (Alchemy & Comprehension): 44h 00m / 720h (45x Multiplier Active)]
Twenty-four more hours of unbroken lounging since yesterday afternoon, bringing Track Three to forty-four hours of pure mental stillness, Kaelen thought, spitting a grey shell into his palm. Not a single sutra recited or meridian strained. Pure peace.
It was the afternoon of day thirteen of the Red-River trials, and Vice-President Harlan’s sudden recovery at dawn the day before had thrown the Guild’s upper pavilion into a full-scale uproar.
Senior Appraiser Kael’s premature isolation seal on the third testing hall had been frozen for a two-day tribunal safety audit. That left fifty-six hours before the heavy bronze gates of the Nine-Cauldron Alchemy Guild finally ground shut.
