The morning started like most others — cool, silent, and covered in dew. The birdsong was soft, the fog pale, and the scent of heated oil already drifting from the soap barn. But by mid-morning, that silence broke.
Gaspar arrived, faster than usual, his boots muddy, face unreadable.
"Official messenger on the road," he said. "Carrying a city seal. Says he's from the Guild Office of Trade Oversight."
Ana dropped the clay bottle she was holding. It shattered.
Marcos didn't blink.
"How long?"
"Less than an hour."
They'd planned for this.
But not this soon.
The kiln was already half-constructed behind the drying shed — built from bricks shaped over the past week using clay from the riverbank and straw pressed in wooden molds. Tobias had helped load them. Élio had tested the smoke channels.
Now, they would test the entire system.
Marcos didn't panic. He simply moved.
He signaled Élio with two fingers — flat, then curled. The boy disappeared into the back path, running a loop around the soap barn, lighting two discreet piles of moss compound. No fire. Just smoke — short, weak, controlled.
Vicência, who had been gathering herbs at the far edge of the field, saw the puffs rise.
Her basket dropped.
She walked calmly toward the barn.
By the time the inspector arrived at the village square, the primary barn was empty.
All product was "under inspection already" in a wagon by the river.
All fire sources had been extinguished.
All that remained were scraps of fabric, soot stains, and three people peeling vegetables near the drying shed.
The inspector was a man named Batista.
Sharp eyes. Thin frame. Spoke with a nasal rhythm common to low-tier bureaucrats from the capital. He showed no emotion as he read from the document.
"Audit inspection. Rumors of irregular trade practices. Items exceeding value for production standard. Need to verify heating sources and taxation stamps."
Marcos offered tea and bland conversation.
Ana smiled politely and talked about soap as if she'd learned it from her grandmother.
Gaspar leaned against the wall, silent as stone.
And Vicência?
She stirred the ash pit with her bare hands.
Batista paused when he saw her.
"You let your women handle fire?"
Marcos smiled. "She handles much more than that."
Vicência met the inspector's gaze without flinching.
"My hands know heat better than most tongues know truth," she said.
Batista frowned but said nothing.
The kiln worked perfectly.
Marcos moved three batches of raw soap bars through it while Batista walked the front barn. It heated without visible flame. Dried the surface. Released no noticeable smoke. By the time Batista circled back, the wagon by the river had been refilled with fully cured goods.
All legal.
All labeled.
All dry.
That evening, as the inspector left, Marcos gathered Vicência, Tobias, Élio, and Gaspar in the back room.
He placed a simple token on the table — a piece of dark wood carved into a spiral.
Vicência picked it up.
"What is this?"
"Your name," Marcos said. "If you accept it."
She examined it closely.
"Not a full name," she said.
"No," Marcos replied. "Just a shadow of one."
Vicência didn't speak again. She placed the token inside her satchel and nodded once.
From that night on, she became Finger Three.
Later, the system pulsed again.
[Mission Completed: Tactical Blueprint Test – Portable Kiln]
✔ Inspector diverted
✔ Products passed all inspection
✔ Smoke-free protocol verified
Reward Granted: Blueprint – Charcoal Ink Block (Rain-resistant writing)
Marcos grinned.
The kiln was now standard infrastructure.
The team now had four active members.
The system was growing faster than anyone could see.
But as Marcos stared into the quiet dark, something in his chest whispered:
"Eyes are opening. But so are mouths. You will need more than silence soon."