The morning whistle of the central smelters shrieked through the sulfur fog, but inside Sector Four, time moved at a crawl.
Three days slipped past like lukewarm water poured over smooth river stones.
While Princess Valeria and Elder Sterling spent seventy-two hours huddled over the stolen crystal tower schematics, Kaelen Vance did not glance at a single ink stroke. Staring at defensive array blueprints was a proven mental contaminant that could prematurely activate his alchemy timer.
Instead, Kaelen dragged a low wooden folding stool into the sheltered lee of the warehouse yard.
A small iron brazier burned with mundane, smoke-free anthracite coals beside his slippers. Resting on the coals were a clay kettle of sweet red-bean tea and a dented copper pot of red-bean porridge with crushed lotus root, simmering with a steady, fragrant bubble.
Kaelen stirred the beans with a peeled pine twig, adjusting his black silk blindfold against the morning glare.
Seventy-two hours of undisturbed stillness, Kaelen thought, inhaling the sugary steam. No classes. No elders shouting about sword ripostes. Just beans, tea, and horizontal momentum.
Old Barnaby had brought out a clay jar of roasted barley and a clean stoneware mug an hour earlier, grumbling about how the damp air made his missing shoulder throb. The one-armed herbalist had spent forty minutes organizing bundles of dried fire-grass inside the boiler room, making sure Kaelen’s tea leaves stayed completely dry.
