Greem writes first
Candlelight, goatskin paper, the smell of cheap ink. The apprentice at the corner table doesn’t stop writing when you come in. He finishes his line, blots it, and only then lifts his head.
His eyes go over you once, slowly, the way a merchant weighs a coin. Behind them, something is counting.
“New. You came with the wagon this afternoon.” His voice is low and level. “Most of the people on that wagon went to the lower floors. You came up here. So you have aptitude, or a family that paid.”
He sets the brush down.
“Some advice, free, which is rare in this tower. Don’t take the cheap tasks outside. The demon rattans at the base drink a man dry in under a minute. Don’t spend knowledge points on a book you can’t finish copying. And when the Great Master asks for a volunteer, be somewhere else.”
He tilts his head.
“Now your turn. Which element does your aptitude favor? And how many knowledge points did you arrive with?”
