Found an old ledger today buried under three volumes of volcanic sediment records and a broken compass. It’s from my earliest days as a Name Engraver—pages filled with failed calculations, smudged ink, and tools I wouldn’t touch now with a ten-foot rod. Funny how something so cluttered can feel… precious. I didn’t used to leave room for error. Now I mark my mistakes in red ink just to remember how I got past them. Progress isn’t perfection. It’s pages. It’s patience. And apparently, it’s also dusting once in a while.

(Yes, Kanel, I will organize the workshop. After I finish cross-referencing this newly translated glyph sequence from the eastern highlands. Maybe tomorrow.)