A year slipped past in the blink of an eye.
What had begun as a quiet ripple in the pill markets had turned into a tide that washed through the Alchemy Division, the Mission Hall, and even the Disciplinary Hall.
The Blood Flood Pill, once a mundane entry on price boards, now breathed like a living thing that swelled and starved with the hour. Merit changed hands at a fevered pace as grudges sharpened while rumors grew legs.
And eyes turned.
At first, those eyes were only annoyed disciples who found the pill out of stock on a day they bled too much in practice. Then they were Inner Court alchemists who could not keep up with orders.
Eventually they were elders who preferred their ledgers smooth and slow, not spiked with shortages followed by sudden abundance. All of them complained. All of them were told to be patient.
Supply and demand, said the clerks.
Markets breathe, said the deputy stewards. It will settle.
It did not settle...
