Alluvendran sighed and stared at the pieces of imbued stones, chipped and polished. Their shapes and colors danced in front of his eyes as he moved them around his worktable in a pointless attempt to rearrange them. This is ridiculous. By no means was he a jeweler or artist, and this shouldn’t be his task.
Behind him, in the corner of the cellar workshop, three women sat chained to the wall and watched his every move with a mixture of fear and hope in their eyes, but they didn’t try to beg or disturb him anymore. As much as Alluvendran pitied their plight, he couldn’t set them free, so he’d drugged them instead. It brought him an illusion of peace, and spared them most of the pain that came with the blending of stones. Yet his blood still boiled at the memory of when he first learned who
