The Aether-Bath was a basin of thick, iridescent liquid that sat bubbling on a stone pedestal. In the traditions of the Capital, this was the ultimate arbiter; the fluid was designed to react violently with any metal that carried "impurities of intent" or physical flaws. To the common eye, it was a magical judgment. To Deacon, it was a highly reactive, concentrated nitric-acid solution.
The High Steward approached with two stone tongs. He took a handful of the Silver Circle's cast coins and dropped them into the left side of the basin. The liquid shimmered, turning a soft, harmless blue.
"The Guild's coins are recognized," the Steward announced.
Belasco's eyes glinted. He adjusted the grip on his staff, the violet gem at its tip pulsing with a faint, rhythmic light.
As the Steward reached for the Oakhaven tray, Deacon's Logistical Insight caught a localized atmospheric shift. He saw the way the light refracted around Belasco's staff—it wasn't just mana; it was an acoustic vibration aimed directly at the basin.
"Hold," Deacon commanded.
The Steward stopped, startled. "Lord Cassian? The trial must proceed."
"The basin is compromised," Deacon said, his voice echoing through the amphitheater. "Grand Master Belasco is using his staff to induce a molecular vibration in the liquid. He's trying to change the pH—the 'purity'—of the bath before my coins even touch it. If I drop them in now, the acid won't just test them; it will dissolve them in a staged exothermic reaction."
Belasco laughed, though the sound was a pitch too high. "Molecular? PH? You speak in tongues, Northerner! My staff is merely a focal point for the Forge-Mother's blessing!"
"It's a focal point for a fraud," Deacon countered. He reached into his leather apron and pulled out a small glass vial containing a white, powdery substance—Baking Soda (Sodium Bicarbonate), refined in the Oakhaven lab.
Deacon stepped toward the basin. "Your Majesty, if the bath is pure, this neutralizer will do nothing but sink to the bottom. But if the Grand Master has 'blessed' it into a hyper-reactive state, you're about to see a very different kind of magic."
Deacon flicked a pinch of the powder into the liquid.
The basin erupted. The iridescent fluid didn't turn blue; it turned a violent, foamy orange, hissing and spitting as it reacted with the base. A thick, acrid cloud of gas rolled toward the Silver Circle, forcing the alchemists to scramble back, coughing and clutching their throats.
"The bath was spiked with a concentrated catalyst!" Deacon shouted over the hissing. "The Grand Master wasn't testing the coins; he was trying to assassinate the evidence!"
The Empress stood up, her face a mask of cold fury. "Steward! Drain the basin and bring a fresh flask from the Royal Archive. One sealed by my own hand."
The transition was swift. Under the Empress's watchful eye, a new, neutral bath was prepared. The Oakhaven coins were dropped in. They didn't foam. They didn't hiss. They sat at the bottom, their milled edges gleaming perfectly through the clear liquid.
"The Oakhaven coins are pure," the Steward declared, his voice trembling. "And they are... harder. The cold-striking process has compressed the grain of the silver. These will last ten times as long as any cast coin."
Deacon looked at Belasco, who was now being flanked by Sun-Guard. The Grand Master's authority had vanished in a cloud of orange smoke.
"You didn't just lose a contract, Belasco," Deacon said, stepping into the center of the arena. "You lost the mystery. People don't need your 'blessings' when they have a thermometer and a scale."
The Empress descended the dais, walking past the broken alchemists toward the Oakhaven Steam-Stamp. She ran a gloved hand over the cold, unyielding iron.
"You have won the Charter, Lord Cassian," she said, her voice quiet but resonant. "Oakhaven is granted the right to the Independent Mining Union. But more than that... I want this 'Science' of yours taught to my Royal Engineers. If my Empire is to survive the coming winter, it must be forged in your image."
Deacon bowed—a short, professional nod. "The foundries are ready, Your Majesty. But be warned: once you start measuring the world, you can't go back to pretending the stars are just lights in the sky."
As the crowd began to disperse, Julian leaned toward Deacon, his face finally regaining some color. "We did it, David. We have the Charter. We have the Empress's backing."
"We have a target on our backs," Deacon corrected, watching the Silver Circle be led away. "Belasco was just the front man. The High Church won't let their 'Divine Logic' be replaced by a steam engine without a fight. We need to get the prototypes back to Oakhaven and begin the Fortification Phase."