The heavy brass seal slammed onto the registration parchment with a wet, decisive clatter, leaving a blot of scarlet wax over the newly inscribed charter.
Inside the Inner Sect Administration Pavilion, the air smelled of stale ink, cedar filing cabinets, and the cold disdain of senior bureaucrats. Registry Elder Warren peered over his brass-rimmed spectacles, his lip curling as he lifted the application scroll with two fingers. His gaze flicked from Caleb Conway’s unadorned gray coat to the title scrawled at the top of the vellum, his chest heaving with a short, wheezing scoff that caused the junior scribes nearby to smirk into their ledgers.
"The Golden Ledger?" Warren muttered, tapping a manicured fingernail against the mahogany counter. "We register martial banners on this mountain, y
