Chapter 111 - The Ticking Heart

The first week of my tenure as Chief Artisan was less about innovation and more about listening. I didn't spend my time at a drafting table with fresh parchment and ink; I spent it with my forehead pressed against the cooling granite of the Relay Tower. The Centurion was no longer a construct I could command with a flick of my wrist or a mental shout. It had become the nervous system of Valmere itself. Through the leash, I could feel the rhythmic pulse of the primary ward-lines, the subtle expansion of the stone under the midday sun, and the frantic, tiny vibrations of five hundred students moving through the halls like blood cells through a giant, stone body. It was constant sensory overload—a data-stream that made my head throb behind my eyes—but it was also the most complete diagnostic tool I had ever possessed. Every leaky pipe, every cracked mortar joint, and every fluctuating mana-capacitor whispered to me through the silver-inlaid bone hidden deep within the masonry.