The streaming chat overlay in the corner of Hajin's vision gradually faded into darkness as midnight settled over the quiet basin.
Marrick sat behind his desk in the registry office, dipping his quill into fresh ink while smoothing out a clean roll of vellum.
"No drawings," Marrick said firmly, tapping the registration line with the butt of his quill.
"What?" Ferra demanded, her obsidian horns gleaming under the candlelight.
"Treasury regulations disallow hammer sketches or clan runes as legal signatures," the scribe explained without flinching. "Our records must be submitted to the imperial board of trade, so there is zero room for defiance."
"Pencil-pushing parasites," she growled, snatching the feather from his hand.
"The imperial examiners check every letter under magical magnification," Marrick reminded her, adjusting his brass-rimmed spectacles. "If they detect an unapproved clan glyph, they will freeze our commercial transit licenses."
