A thin spiral of fragrant steam curled from the clay spout of the teapot.
Inside the obsidian grotto, the air remained delightfully warm, bathed in the steady golden radiance of the primal thermal vent.
Kaelen Vance turned the final page of The Cold General’s Warm Stew, Book Seventy-Five.
He closed the volume with a soft, satisfying tap, setting it neatly on the third book pyramid beside his hammock.
On a smooth flat-stone resting directly over the rising heat, four purple sweet potatoes sizzled gently.
Their outer skins were blistered and black, caramelized by geothermal heat until rich, sugary syrup bubbled through the cracks.
Kaelen lifted one with a pair of bamboo tongs, peeled back the skin, and took a hot, fragrant bite.
“Seventy-five down,” Kaelen murmured to the silent chamber. “Four hundred and twenty-five to go.”
