Morning bells clanged across the misty terraces of the White-Lotus Royal Academy.
The sound rolled through the damp mountain pines, echoing off the tiered stone halls. Along the winding mountain path, hundreds of new initiates hurried toward the upper plateau, their leather boots clicking against the wet flagstones.
Linnea walked briskly, clutching a roll of blank spirit-parchment to her chest. Beside her, Kaelen moved at the pace of an old plow ox, his hands buried deep in his loose gray sleeves.
“Walk faster, Brother Kaelen,” Linnea urged, glancing nervously at the stone clock-tower above them. “The registry handbook says Elder Morrel locks the bronze doors on the final bell stroke. Anyone locked outside loses their monthly stone allowance and gets ten lashes with a discipline rod.”
“Lashes build character, Linnea,” Kaelen said mildly. “Rushing up granite stairs before breakfast builds knee pain. I know which one my ancestors would choose.”
Linnea groaned, but she did not leave his side. Together they climbed the final flight of steps and entered the cavernous mouth of the Grand Lecture Hall.
The hall rose like an amphitheater carved from mountain granite. Three hundred polished cedar desks curved upward in steep semicircular rows, overlooking a central lecture dais of white spirit-marble. Three hundred Jade Meridian initiates sat rigidly in their seats, their posture straight as spears.
