The heavy mahogany counter of the Mission Intake Pavilion shuddered as Edric unslung two sealed wicker crates from his shoulder and set them down before the duty registrar.
Caleb Conway stepped forward, his gray travel coat dusted with gray volcanic ash, and placed a third item between the crates with a dull, heavy clink. It was the signed salvage and debt-transfer covenant bearing Garrick’s jagged signature and the official blood seal of the Crimson Falcon faction. Behind them, the vast hall hummed with the voices of returning squads, scribes logging mission scrolls, and couriers rushing between desks, but the commotion near the western wing quickly died down as the duty clerk unfastened the latches of the wicker baskets.
Inside the lined cedar compartments, six pristine volcanic lotus
