Dim morning light filtered through the iron slats of the ventilation alcove.
Inside the Old Smeltery of Sector Two, the air smelled of cold soot, rusted pulleys, and damp brickwork. The massive warehouse had been abandoned for twenty years, ever since Grand Regent Malakor relocated primary smelting operations to the central caldera. Its towering brick chimneys were choked with cobwebs, and its casting floor lay buried under piles of cracked firebrick.
Beneath his black silk blindfold, Kaelen Vance sat comfortably on an upturned wooden crate.
Before him rested a small clay brazier filled with glowing white spirit-charcoal. Two plump purple sweet potatoes sizzled gently on an iron wire grate, their caramelized skins swelling and releasing a rich, sugary fragrance into the drafty room.
Old Barnaby had brought the sweet potatoes from the Sector Four storage cellar earlier that morning.
“Purple yams from the Southern Valleys,” Barnaby had told him with a chuckle. “They roast sweet as candied chestnuts if you turn them every ten minutes over white coals.”
Kaelen had followed the instruction with absolute, scholarly dedication.
He leaned his bamboo fishing rod against the crate, taking a slow sip of warm barley brew.
