The technical core of the system was a twenty-foot-high pendulum made of the same zero-expansion Invar alloy as the Master Rod. To ensure the pendulum's swing remained constant regardless of the mountain's internal vibrations, Kael mounted it in a "Vacuum-Sleeve"—a sealed iron cylinder from which the air was partially evacuated using a steam-driven suction pump. This minimized air resistance, allowing the heavy lead bob to swing with a precision that surpassed any mechanical clock in the Protectorate.
"We aren't just measuring time, Elms," Kael said, monitoring the rhythmic tick-tock through a copper stethoscope. "We are regulating the mountain's metabolism. The Chronos-Column will dictate when the lights dim, when the water flows, and when the hammers fall. It is the conductor of our industrial symphony."
The grit of the engineering was the Distribution Network. A master clock in a single vault was useless to a miner two miles away in the East Reach. Kael utilized the existing "Acoustic Pipes" to broadcast the time. He designed a "Chronos-Striker"—a small, steam-actuated hammer that struck the primary iron pipe once every sixty seconds. This rhythmic "Minute-Pulse" traveled through the bedrock, providing every citizen with a tactile and audible heartbeat to synchronize their work.
Socially, the Chronos-Column introduced the concept of the "Standard Shift." The population was divided into three "Cadences." When the Minute-Pulse struck a specific resonant frequency, the Green-Keepers would dim the arc-lamps, signaling the "Dusk Cadence" to begin their rest while the "Dawn Cadence" took over the Foundry. This leveled the energy load, preventing the dangerous pressure spikes that had previously threatened the boiler valves.
A technical failure occurred during the first week of synchronization. The "Minute-Pulse" was so powerful that it began to interfere with the delicate "Seismic Mirror." The constant rhythmic striking created a "Standing Wave" in the command vault, blurring the mercury pool and masking any potential surface threats.
Kael utilized the "Anti-Phase Counter-Weight." He installed a secondary, smaller striker on the opposite side of the Chronos-Column that struck a fraction of a second after the primary pulse. This "Echo-Strike" was designed to cancel out the seismic reflection within the command vault while leaving the audible pulse intact for the rest of the tiers. It was an exercise in acoustic balancing that restored the barony's sight.
The engineering of standardized time allowed for a new level of social density. With shifts perfectly timed, the residential tiers could be utilized more efficiently, with "hot-bunking" arrangements for the newest Aspirants. The population count rose to 910 as a group of musicians and teachers arrived from the northern borders, seeking a place where "civilization" was being rebuilt with such precision.
Kael stood in the Chronos-Vault, his hand on the vibrating iron pipe. The pulse was steady, a relentless heartbeat that moved the mountain toward the future.
"The rhythm is set, Elms," Kael said. "We have nearly a thousand people living in total darkness, governed by a clock they cannot see. But a thousand people need more than just work and time—they need 'Health.' Our waste-processing and medicinal supplies were designed for a barony of five hundred. At a thousand, a single outbreak of fever could turn this mountain into a tomb. We need to start the Bio-Foundry."
Kael began sketching the designs for Tier 10: The Apothecary Vaults—a facility dedicated to the large-scale cultivation of medicinal fungi and the distillation of antiseptic spirits from the Green Ring's waste.