The crimson light projecting from the uncoupled Returner Seal cast four distinct, diamond-shaped glyphs onto the whitewashed plaster above Lady Signe’s desk.
Jon Hale stood over the gray earthenware vessel, his hands resting flat upon the deal tabletop, peering down through the four inches of muddy water. At the bottom of the bowl, resting among the melted lead fishing sinkers, the gold rim of the relic was surrounded by a cluster of four microscopic red crosses, etched into the dark metal casing like tally marks on a prison wall.
“Look at the base of the root, Sister,” Jon said, pointing his calloused index finger into the water. “Those four marks are not imperial stamps. They are scorch marks.”
Sister Oda stepped to the table, her caribou-bone stylus held between her thumb and forefinger. She leaned down until the hem of her woolen veil brushed the clay rim, her dark eyes narrowing behind her spectacles as she studied the incisions.
“Recoil scars,” Oda identified, her voice grim. “When a Hearth Core triggers a temporal reset, the backlash of inverted time burns a groove into the iron casing. One groove for each completed loop. There are four distinct grooves at the collar.”
