On day fourteen hundred and eighty-four, the first white shapes rose at dusk.
Neri saw them above the eastern shelf, lifting from the dark ground one after another. They were too slow for birds. Each shape opened, turned broadside to the warm air, and floated upward until the last sunlight made it shine.
“Seed sails,” Garn said. “You’ll see more after dark.”
They had come to inspect the natural vent beyond the old kiln workings. Nyla’s upper observations showed a warm flow disappearing beneath a rubble fan, then reappearing closer to the crowded Rootwell receiver. If a clear natural outlet had once stood above that fan, restoring it might give the machinery’s returns more room without forcing the land’s heat through occupied galleries.
The last approach was narrow and best crossed in the cooler evening. Safa had chosen a sheltered camp on the high side, with a sound return route and a watcher who could see the basin weather. They had food for the overnight survey, proper masks, reserve air, and no intention of following a promising hole farther than their equipment allowed.
Iven stood beside the marked ledge while Nyla sampled the lower air.
His six seats were thermal curtain, plate brace, track grip, hook cast, winch draw, and radiator fin. The physical hook and line lay ready on the rock. His lance remained packed at camp; a long point would be an inconvenience in a narrow chimney.
