For eighty-five hours after the pillar fell, the city’s formation masters isolated and tested the star-sealed cylinder before attempting to open it. During that preparation Kaelen briefly spent his cultivation, martial and alchemy reserves on ordinary practice and medical supplies, restarting those three tracks while leaving the formation track untouched. Another fifty-five hours passed while the quarantine held and Vane arranged a safe examination.
The star-iron cylinder thumped onto the low pine table, leaving a ring of grey ash on the unfinished wood.
Kaelen Vance sat on a three-legged stool on his covered porch. He held a wooden spoon in one hand and watched steam rise from a pot of simmering bone broth.
Deacon Vane leaned forward, his slender fingers twitching with excitement. He drew a silver-tipped appraisal blade from his sleeve and hovered the edge above the cylinder.
“Be careful with the finish,” Kaelen said, stirring the broth. “That metal was forged in the void. It feels smooth enough to roll pastry.”
“Master Ash, this is high-grade star-iron from the upper firmament,” Vane said, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. “A single ounce can buy three city blocks in the outer ring.”
The appraiser set the blade against the astral wax seal. A crisp snap echoed across the veranda as the silver-blue seal split in half.
