The reply to the mining town was sent, but the waiting that followed was a new kind of tension. It was the anxiety of a teacher who has given a student a complex tool and must now watch from a distance, hoping it is used to build and not to break. Aethelburg held its breath.
The days were filled with the familiar rhythm of the guild. Elara taught a glassblower how to see the stresses in her molten creations before they cracked. Lysander led a group of nervous city guards in exercises meant to feel the intent of a crowd, not just count its numbers. But beneath the routine, a question hummed: *Had their letter been enough?*
The answer came not from the dusty plains, but from the sea.
Another messenger arrived, this one from Tidewatch. He was not a swift rider, but a sailor with a rolling gait and salt-bleached clothes, his face weathered by sun and spray. He carried no shale scrap, but a sealed tube of waxed leather. He asked for the "keepers of the quiet light."
