Kaelen Vance sat up smoothly from his bed of coal sacks.
He stretched his arms toward the smoky ceiling, rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness of sixty-eight hours of horizontal rest.
Beneath his black silk blindfold, his senses were sharper than honed steel.
Across the volcanic cavern, a heavy brass gong sounded four deep, echoing strokes.
The seventy-two-hour catalyst trial had entered its final four hours.
In the center of the terrace, the giant magma hourglass had trickled away almost all its glowing red sand. Only a thin layer remained in the upper glass bulb.
Around the fifty booths, exhaustion hung heavy over the stone floor. Alchemists sat slumped over their workbenches, their faces blackened with soot and their robes soaked with sweat. Several tables lay completely abandoned, their ruined cauldrons cracked open from excessive internal pressure.
Down on the central walkway, a triumphant cheer erupted from the front row of workstations.
