The scent of damp cedar shavings and cooled jasmine tea filled the fifth-floor Inner Sanctum at noon on Day 28.
Kaelen Vance sat on the edge of the velvet divan, slowly pulling on a pair of thick wool socks.
Across the city, the lower spires were buzzing like disturbed hornets. Grandmaster Volkov’s decree had thrown every furnace hall into total panic.
Dozens of candidate alchemists were desperately stuffing fire-resistant talismans into their apprentices’ sleeves. Standing inside a live subterranean volcanic flue for fifteen minutes was known to melt ordinary leather boots into liquid slag.
Inside the Inner Sanctum, Elder Sterling stood by the hearth, polishing his iron scabbard with a rag.
“Volkov knows the saboteur is hiding among the lower furnace crews,” Sterling said, his voice low and heavy. “The Dragon-Fire Vent is not a test of skill. It is an execution chamber.”
Sera Thorne leaned against the doorframe, testing the balance of two bone throwing daggers.
“The vent taps into the central earth-fire artery,” Sera said. “Even a Peak Golden Core cultivator will have their skin blistered within three minutes. Only a seasoned Nascent Soul expert can endure fifteen minutes of raw volcanic flame.”
