The echoes of the Grand Obsidian Bell had barely faded before the third-floor corridors began to churn with hurried footsteps.
Senior alchemists in heavy brocade robes hastened toward the grand courtyard, trailed by apprentices carrying silver writing brushes and inkstones. Even the furnace attendants were rounded up to carry flags, incense braziers, and bamboo water-buckets.
Seven colossal banners flapped from the upper balconies of the surrounding spires, each dyed in the signature color of its tower.
The Seventh Spire flew the black-and-gold flag of Grandmaster Volkov, dominating the southern sky. Opposite them, the Fourth Spire flew a pale azure banner embroidered with silver frost-ferns, surrounded by heavily armed guards whose faces were set in tense, defensive lines.
Kaelen Vance found himself shoved onto the upper balcony overlooking the central plaza, an iron-tipped broom thrust firmly into his hands.
Beside him stood Sera Thorne and Elder Sterling, each holding wooden ash-shovels.
Below the balcony, ten thousand cultivators packed the volcanic obsidian plaza. In the center of the ring stood a towering thirty-foot stele carved from solid white marrow-jade, draped in heavy black velvet embroidered with seven golden flame-rings.
Kaelen leaned his chin on the broom handle, letting out a long, suffering sigh.
