The vaulted ceilings of the Grand Chancery’s archives smelled of dried lavender, aged calfskin parchment, and centuries of undisturbed dust. I stood before a towering, wrought-iron shelving unit, tracing my fingertips along the spine of a leather-bound codex detailing the 124th Neutral Alliance Trade Accord.
Three weeks had dissolved into a relentless blur of diplomacy, logistics, and treaty ratifications. The continental summit in Grandos loomed closer with every tick of the brass-geared clock tower outside, bringing with it a tide of foreign dignitaries, anxious monarchs, and shifting political alliances.
My personal comm-crystal chimed—a low, melodic hum echoing softly against the stone walls. I tapped the surface, projecting a floating blue display into the dim air.
It was an encryp
