Two weeks have passed since the shaft is sealed. The Hall of Welcome rests in soft gold light, while ink-thin vines creep lazily along the Ledger and the beams around it.
Sella kneels beside the book, guiding a patient thread of magic through the vines. Each trimmed tendril folds back without protest, as if it only wants to be noticed.
Bren sits nearby with her blade across one knee, drawing the whetstone along its edge in a steady rhythm. Her eyes keep returning to the Ledger, wary, curious, and unwilling to look away.
Sella
It is not fighting me. It is listening. That is different, and useful.
Bren
Useful things still bite. I have learned not to trust a quiet room just because it sounds polite.
Kynes
The vines are growing from the writing, not the wood.
The Ledger gives a soft, page-dry rustle, and the gold light from below the floorboards warms the room instead of pressing against it. For a moment, the hall feels less like a ward and more like a shared table waiting for someone to sit.
Determine whether the Ledger is safe to keep in the Hall of Welcome