"My Lord!"
Several workers hurriedly pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the Paper Research Institute, their voices full of respect and anticipation.
Luciel stood in the courtyard, sleeves rolled up, the morning sun gilding his hair. Around him were stacked piles of papyrus, some still damp from soaking. "Take these things, too," he said casually, gesturing toward the bundles.
"Yes, my Lord." The workers scattered immediately, each taking their share of papyrus and carrying it inside.
Every person working here had been personally taught by Luciel. Someday, they would be able to pass the craft on to others—perhaps even open their own paper shops. The thought made him quietly pleased.
Alina, meanwhile, blinked in confusion at the row of strange sinks and wooden frames scattered across the yard. "What are all these for?" she asked, peering curiously at one of the basins.
