Twenty-four hours of unbroken quiet settled over the western barracks like a thick wool blanket.
Kaelen lay stretched out in his canvas hammock, gently swaying between the timber pillars. A small clay saucer rested on his stomach, holding three dried persimmons and two almond biscuits Mina had baked that morning. Through the high slit window, the afternoon sun cast warm copper stripes across the cedar floorboards.
Not a single shouting guard, Kaelen thought with deep satisfaction. Not a single exploding cauldron. If every mining colony were this peaceful, I would consider moving here permanently.
He reached inward, checking the silver script hovering in his consciousness.
[The Fallow Slate — STAGE 2 TRI-TRACK TALLY] [Track 1 (Cultivation Vessel): 120h 00m -> Multiplier: 121x Active (SEALED)] [Track 2 (Martial Combat): 71h 00m -> Multiplier: 72x Active (SEALED)] [Track 3 (Alchemy & Comprehension): 24h 00m -> Multiplier: 25x Active (SEALED)]
Twenty-four hours of pure, motionless resting had pushed Track 1 to one hundred and twenty hours. Track 2 was climbing toward seventy hours, while Track 3 had quietly restored its baseline foundation to twenty-four hours after the morning’s burst.
Barnaby Holt sat near the cold hearth, whittling a fresh cedar spoon with a short utility knife. The one-armed old man looked remarkably relaxed for the first time since leaving Red-River City.
