Chapter 14: Food for a Molt
Lowmoor's winter deepened. Ice crusted on every slate roof, and chimneys spat thin smoke that vanished in a pewter sky. Guild scouts still guarded the gates, their slate‑gray cloaks a silent warning: We are watching.
Deep below greenhouse wing, in the dim blue glow of lichen, Zephyr crouched beside Star's nest. The hatchling's wings now stretched twenty‑seven centimeters tip to tip. Each flight drill lengthened the span, but they needed more growth. The System said a first molt would trigger at thirty‑five. Only then would Star's bones harden for true sustained flight—and only then could they risk the sky‑exit route Zephyr and Fenna had scouted on the ruined rookery roof.
Yet growth had slowed. The ember pellets were not enough.
### 1 A recipe for change
Fenna unrolled a yellowed page she had stolen from the academy's sealed herb records.
