The bronze tablet taken from the dead Censorate courier was cold and heavy in Deacon Lucius Vane’s hands.
Crouched in the deep shadow of the limestone pillar beside the command wagon, Lucius Vane ran his thumb along the cracked metal edges. A faint smell of copper oxide and dried arterial blood rose from the stamped imperial seals.
The tablet was forged from heavy void-bronze, a dense northern metal reserved for royal decrees. Its borders were chiseled with crawling vine patterns, inlaid with black lacquer that had chipped under blade strikes.
Beside him, Linnea knelt upon a folded wool blanket, her breath puffing in tiny white clouds against the morning chill.
“Look at this fourth column,” Vane whispered, his voice barely audible beneath the whistle of the wind-vein cavern. “These are dates of departure from the provincial capital. Every record ends within sixty days of arrival.”
Linnea leaned closer, her fingers trembling as she squinted at the etched characters.
“The seal of the Four Great Pill Houses is stamped over their names,” Linnea murmured with a shudder. “In the Nine-Cauldron Guild, we were told that disciples who failed their first-year exams were assigned to remote border garrisons. Nobody ever questioned where they went.”
