Thirty hours after the raid was resolved, the afternoon sun crossed the porch steps, casting long shadows through the bamboo blinds.
Outside the inner garden gate, thirty sect patriarchs stood in neat, disciplined rows. Every man and woman wore padded felt slippers over their boots, obeying the Five-Mile Whisper Law with terrified precision. Some still limped from Mina’s frost-traps, their toes numb in their socks.
Deacon Vane and Elder Sterling led the delegation onto the veranda, carrying the captured sheepskin map.
They spread the thick parchment across the lower flagstones before Kaelen’s wicker bench. Etched across the leather was the sprawling imperial grid, marked with thirty-six crimson tower icons and hundreds of intricate energetic vector lines.
“Master Ash,” Deacon Vane whispered, bowing until his chin pressed against his chest. “The thirty patriarchs have gathered in complete silence. We beg for your tactical guidance.”
Patriarch Shen stepped forward on tiptoe, his heavy hands clasped tightly before his chest.
“The countdown is just under nineteen days,” Shen whispered urgently. “Thirty-six secondary Blood-Tax relay towers surrounding our provinces. If we do not dismantle them, every child’s spiritual roots will burn to ash.”
Beside the low tea table, Kaelen sat on a wooden stool, completely ignoring the map.
