The former foundry space in the citadel warehouse wing still smelled faintly of iron and mineral residue. Nothing operated there anymore, but the room remembered what it had once been.

The large furnace against the back wall had sat cold for months. Its work had been transferred to the industrial district, leaving the space available for other projects.

Beorn had repurposed it accordingly.

A long worktable occupied the center of the room. Shelves lined one wall, holding labeled clay dishes and small jars set out with obvious purpose. Tools hung nearby. In the far corner, a small iron brazier burned steadily. It wasn’t strong enough to defeat the winter cold, but it made the room tolerable.

The table itself revealed what Beorn had been doing over the previous weeks.

Burn marks scored the wood in a neat progression. Some were old and blackened. Others were newer and lighter. The pattern wasn’t random. It showed repeated trials, each one slightly different from the last.

Near them stood a wooden rack holding thin sticks at various stages of completion. Some were bare wood. Others had a dark dried mixture coating one end.

Aestrith had chosen the corner nearest the brazier. Heavy coat on, arms relaxed and feet planted flat against the floor.

Since arriving, she had spent most of her attention on the rack. She had not yet asked what it was.

Tam entered next, still wearing her foundry apron. The ties remained knotted behind her from the morning shift and her sleeves were rolled to the elbows despite the cold. Months in the foundry had apparently trained her to stop noticing winter.

She circled the table, checking both ends before stopping near the rack where she could inspect it more closely.

Beadu arrived with her left hand pressed against her coat pocket. Two steps into the room, she seemed to realize what she was doing.

She withdrew a small cloth-wrapped seed, looked at it briefly, then returned it to the pocket.

After that she focused on the rack of sticks from across the room. Remaining silent required clear effort.

Leof entered last.

She paused in the doorway for two full seconds.

Her eyes moved across the room, checking the people present and where they stood before she stepped inside. The pause was shorter than it would have been a season ago. Whatever inspection she performed, she completed it faster now.

She moved to the far end of the table and stopped with the wall at her back.

The rest of the girls were either working or resting and couldn’t join them this hour.

Beorn set aside the stick he had been examining and turned toward them.

"How many times does a person start a fire in a day? An ordinary household, for cooking, heat, lamps."

Tam answered immediately.

"Three starts at minimum if the hearth dies overnight." She considered it. "Five."

"Eight."

Beadu sounded like someone who had already counted.

"Morning hearth. Cooking fire. Afternoon lamp once daylight starts fading. Bedroom lamp."

She glanced at the others.

"More if the wind gets in. That’s a careful household in winter. Careless ones do worse."

"The fires that go out overnight should count separately."

Leof’s attention remained on the table.

"Relighting them takes the same effort as starting a new one."

Aestrith looked directly at Beorn.

"Are you conducting a survey now?"

"No. I’m not."

He stepped to the table.

Picking up a flint and steel, he pinched tinder against the stone with one hand and struck with the other.

The first spark failed.

The second failed as well.

The third caught.

He cupped the ember carefully and blew until it spread through the tinder. A small flame appeared. He transferred it into a clay tinder pot and waited long enough for it to establish itself.

Roughly twenty seconds.

Both hands occupied.

Complete attention required.

He extinguished the flame and returned the flint and steel to the table.

Then he walked to the rack.

Selecting one of the finished sticks, he held it up between two fingers. It was nothing impressive at first glance. Thin wood. Finger length. Dark mixture dried onto one end.

With his other hand he picked up a flat pine block. Its surface had been coated with a fine abrasive layer fixed in place with resin.

He held both objects where everyone could see them.

Then he waited.

Beadu lasted four seconds.

"That’s just a stick."

Beorn snickered, "With these two objects, a person can start a fire using one hand in less time than it takes to draw a full breath."

Nobody interrupted.

"In wind. In rain. In complete darkness."

He delivered the statement with the tone he might use when discussing pipe dimensions.

Aestrith’s eyes moved from the abrasive block to the rack, then to the progression of burn marks across the table.

She remained silent.

Leof leaned forward slightly.

"The texture changes near the tip. The color too."

Tam had already removed a stick from the rack.

She pressed her thumbnail lightly against the coated end, testing its hardness.

"What’s in it?"

"You’ll see."

Beorn placed the abrasive block flat on the table.

He took a finished stick, set the coated tip against the surface, and drew it across in one steady motion.

The compound ignited immediately.

A small flame appeared at the end. Blue near the wood. Yellow above.

It remained stable.

Several seconds later, once the mixture had nearly burned away and the wood itself began to char, Beorn blew it out and set the spent match on the table.

Without pause he picked up a second stick.

One stroke.

Another flame.

Same color.

Same duration.

Same result.

He allowed it to burn, extinguished it, and placed the second spent match beside the first.

Two demonstrations.

No change.

"A friction match. One hand. One stroke. Fire."

Tam tilted her head and immediately reached for a stick.

She attempted to do the same without instruction, pressed the tip against the abrasive surface, and struck.

The flame appeared in her hand.

She watched it for a moment. "Mm. The fire is a bit small and cute but I can see how it could help a lot? Least for the foundries."

She set the spent match down.

Before she had even finished speaking, her attention had already moved to every other possible use inside the foundry.

"Can I try one?"

Beadu already had a stick in hand.

After examining the abrasive block from several directions, she placed the tip against it and struck.

The match ignited.

She stared.

Two full seconds passed.

"This is completely unfair."

Her voice had somehow become even drier than usual.

"I’ve spent five years fighting with flint to learn how to use it."

She looked at the flame.

"And it’s just a stick."

She grabbed a second match and struck too quickly.

The mixture flashed brightly, then died before a flame formed. A thin thread of smoke curled upward.

She blink.

"N-Not the flint again."

She looked desperately at Beorn.

"Did I do it wrong?"

Beorn sighed with exasperation. "Firm and steady, the contact has to remain across the full stroke. Too fast and the flame doesn’t have time to build itself."

Beadu nodded.

That was a simple explanation.

She picked up a third match, repeated the motion more carefully, and produced a stable flame.

Her expression shifted slightly.

Not the flint again.

Leof remained at the far end of the table.

She had watched every demonstration and every failure with odd concentration.

"The mixture burns inward," she said quietly. "From the surface toward the wood."

There was more to her opinion than just plan observation. Beorn noted she read the reaction through her powers as well.

Aestrith finally pushed away from the wall.

She crossed to the table.

The rack.

The abrasive block.

The row of spent matches.

Her eyes moved across each piece in turn before she asked her question. While the girls were busy with idle topics, she immediately started thinking about the feasibility of production.

"How many can one person produce in a day with a workshop like this?"

"I estimate five hundred."

She considered it.

"And once the industrial district begin civilian production?"

"At least ten times that."

Beorn picked up a small packet wrapped in waxed cloth. Ten matches bound together with thin cord.

He placed it between them.

"That’s the final product. One packet. Ten matches."

He tapped it lightly.

"Cheap enough that people stop starting fires with flints within a generation."

Aestrith looked at the packet.

The idea happened behind her eyes.

She didn’t bother speaking it aloud.

"This is sulfur, yes? I can recognize it from the foundries." Tam said. "Where does it come from?"

"Deposits in the Southern Badlands, mostly."

Beorn lifted a clay dish containing pale crystals. Then another containing finely ground charcoal.

"Sulfur. Charcoal. And a mineral from the southern beds."

He set them down. "The combination ignites quickly and sustains combustion long enough to transfer flame to the wood."

A brief tap against the dishes.

"We already possess enough inventory for a production trial."

Beadu studied the ingredients with an awkward expression. It seemed she was trying very hard to follow the technical explanation.

Eventually she nodded.

The nod lasted only a moment before a more practical concern occurred to her.

She picked up two waxed packets.

"I’m taking these."

"Fine." Beorn shrugged.

Those were for demonstration only. He reckoned she would show it to the other girls.

She picked up two more.

Beorn said nothing.

She picked up another two.

Still nothing.

Apparently she interpreted the silence as approval.

Beorn gathered the spent matches into a clay disposal bin and reset the abrasive block.

Then he walked to the far end of the table.

A cloth covered something much larger there.

The shape beneath had nothing to do with matches. Different dimensions. Different weight. Different purpose.

He stopped beside it.

He didn’t remove the cloth.

"Every notice posted in this city is currently written by one person."

The statement hung in the room.

"One copy. One location."

Aestrith looked at the covered object.

Her gaze remained there for several seconds before shifting to the wall behind it.

Leof glanced at the concealed shape.