In the Free City of Bastion, the air didn’t smell of moss or ancient oaks; it smelled of hot metal, steam, and the relentless march of progress.

  Commander Silas Valerius sat on his balcony, overlooking the tiered streets of the Federation’s jewel. He was a man of high-collars and higher standards, his back as straight as the city’s defense walls. Across from him, his wife, Elara the Elder, was casually dropping a single blue crystal into her tea. The liquid turned violet, hissed, and then settled into a calm, glowing amber.

  "She’s reached Oakhaven," Silas said, tapping a finger against a dispatch scroll. "The reports say she’s already engaged with the local authorities. Though 'engaged' is a polite word for 'collided with,' knowing our daughter."

  Elara smiled—a slow, dangerous expression that hinted where the Inquisitor got her dark humor. "Oakhaven is a sponge, Silas. You sent a woman who likes to keep her boots polished into a town made of mud and secrets. I told her to bring peppermint. The trees there have a way of making one’s nerves itch."

  "She’s a professional, Elara," Silas countered, though his brow furrowed slightly. "But the Mayor there... Thaddeus Sterling. I served with his assistant, Arthur, in the Western Campaign. Arthur is a man of iron, but Sterling? Sterling is a walking logic-error. He’s brilliant, yes, but he treats the Federation like a particularly slow-witted child."

  "Thaddeus is handsome, intelligent, and knows exactly how to use both to be the most annoying man in the Hundred Kingdoms," Elara chuckled, sipping her glowing tea. "He doesn't solve problems; he lets them ripen until they become interesting. Our daughter is going to hate him. Or she’s going to realize he’s the only one in that town who can actually keep up with her."

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  Silas sighed, his gaze drifting to the horizon. "She’s like me. She wants the Bridge to hold. She wants the Ledger to be balanced. But Oakhaven isn't in the Ledger, Elara. It’s a blind spot. And now there are reports of children—'unrecorded variables'—walking the streets with her."

  "Ah, the Leaks," Elara’s eyes brightened with a scientific spark. "I’ve heard rumors for years about St. Jude’s. Martha is there, you know. She was the finest Alchemist the Empire ever produced before she decided she’d rather raise orphans than gold. If our daughter has found Martha’s 'special projects,' then the Continent is about to get very loud."

  Silas shifted, a rare flash of fatherly concern breaking through his rigid exterior. "I hope she remembers her training. The Federation wants order, but Oakhaven offers only... possibilities. I don’t want her lost in the fog."

  "She won't get lost, Silas," Elara said, her voice turning quiet and wise. "She has your iron and my curiosity. She’ll watch the world burn just to see what color the flames are, but she’ll be the one holding the bucket of water when it’s over. Besides, she’s an Inquisitor. She’s supposed to have fun watching the gears grind."

  "It isn't supposed to be 'fun'," Silas grumbled, though he didn't disagree. "It’s duty."

  "Duty is just fun with a better tailor, Silas," Elara teased, watching a steam-carriage rattle through the streets below. "Let’s see what our daughter does when she realizes the 'Golden Wrench' she found in the woods is actually the only thing that can fix her father’s precious Bridge."

  Silas didn't answer, but he picked up his tea, his eyes fixed on the distant direction of the ancient forest. He knew the peace was rusting. He just hoped his daughter was sharp enough to be the whetstone