The heavy oak doors of the grand archives remained locked against the chill of the approaching evening, sealing in the scent of aged parchment, beeswax, and dried lavender. I stood before a sprawling topographical map of the northern frontier, my eyes tracing the intricate ley-line grids that intersected near the Grandos summit perimeter.
There were one hundred and sixty-six chapters remaining until the grand continental assembly ratified the final international safety treaties. In the grand ledger of diplomacy, time was a finite currency, and every single hour demanded absolute fiscal and structural precision.
My personal comm-crystal chimed—a sharp, single note that cut cleanly through the quiet room. I touched the activation rune, projecting a low-intensity blue pane of light into the
