Lyno's plan to fix his roof was simple. He would borrow a ladder from Master Elias, climb up into the attic, find the leak, then climb onto the roof itself and patch it with some tar he remembered seeing in the bookstore's shed. It was a grubby, unpleasant, one-man job.
At least, that's what he thought.
The moment he stepped downstairs, ready to begin his quest for a ladder, he was met by his assembled followers. They were arrayed in a solemn, determined line. They looked like a party of legendary heroes preparing to enter the final boss's dungeon.
"Master," Valerius Zathra said, his voice ringing with profound gravity. "We are ready to assist you in the Great Mending."
"The... what?" Lyno asked, clutching his jacket.
"Your holy project," Aurelia clarified, a look of pious determination on her face. "The Purification of the Vessel. The re-aligning of the Sanctum's physical shell with its perfect, conceptual ideal. We will be your humble acolytes in this sacred endeavor."
Before Lyno could protest, the operation was already underway, executed with terrifying efficiency.
Seraphina, tasked with 'procuring' supplies, did not return with a bucket of tar and a trowel. She vanished for ten minutes and reappeared with an entire wagon cart commandeered from a stunned (but suddenly very willing to cooperate) Imperial logistics team that was posing as a road maintenance crew. The cart contained not tar, but a sealed, cylindrical container of "Imperial Sun-Steel Bonding Agent," a semi-sentient, self-repairing alchemical compound used to patch the hulls of flying battleships. Beside it lay a set of adamantine tools polished to a mirror shine and several rolls of shimmering, waterproof 'gossamer membrane,' a material woven by giant, magically-engineered spiders.
"The materials for the mending ritual, Master," she announced, her tone suggesting she had just presented the holy nails for a crucifixion.
Ren, the chef, was tasked with "Sustenance for the Holy Laborers." He emerged from his kitchen not with sandwiches, but with a tray of what he called "Steadfast Energy Biscuits" and a flask of "Focus-Enhancing Broth." The biscuits were imbued with his now-signature emotional comfort, and the broth was designed to heighten mental clarity.
Brother Tepin, Minister of Praise, had his own crucial role: providing the 'divine chorus.' He stood in the town square, looking up at the roof, and began to chant a low, monotonous, but surprisingly catchy hymn he had just composed, titled "Hymn to the Punctured Shingle." A crowd of townspeople, their minds already softened by the Aura of Okay-ness, began to gather and hum along, turning Lyno's simple home repair into a public religious service.
Lyno was swept up in the momentum of it all. He tried to explain that he just needed a ladder, but before he could finish, Valerius had levitated him gently into the attic.
"The Master will perform the initial diagnosis!" the Sage declared to the others.
The attic was dark, dusty, and full of spiderwebs. Lyno stumbled around, using a small light crystal for illumination. He quickly found the source of the leak: a single, rotted plank of wood with a small hole in it. Easy.
He called down, "Found it! It's just one rotten plank!"
His words were instantly processed through the magnificent delusion-engine of his followers.
Valerius turned to Aurelia. "He has found the 'Rotten Plank'!" he whispered excitedly. "It is the source of the corruption! It is a metaphor, of course, for Duke Ferrus, the nobleman whose family has been a 'rotten plank' in the Empire's structure for generations! The Master is using this repair to guide our political purges! The symbolism is staggering!"
Aurelia dutifully made a note: 'Investigate and purge House Ferrus. By divine decree of the Mender.'
Lyno, unaware he had just signed a noble family's political death warrant, proceeded to the next step. Using a small hatch, he clambered out onto the wet, slippery roof.
He stood up, his footing precarious, and looked out over the town square. The rain had stopped. A crowd of people were looking up at him, humming. Brother Tepin was leading them like a choir director. Lyno felt a wave of dizzying social anxiety. He was on display. He just wanted to get this over with.
He located the leaky spot, a few missing shingles around the rotted plank's location.
Seraphina, in a whisper of movement, appeared on the roof next to him, her balance perfect. She presented the container of Sun-Steel Bonding Agent. "The Sacred Sealant, Master."
Lyno stared at the glowing, semi-liquid goo. "This looks... complicated," he said. "Can't I just use some tar?"
His words were, again, a profound lesson.
"He finds the advanced tools of the Empire 'complicated'," Valerius interpreted from the ground, his voice filled with awe. "He seeks to use 'tar'—a simple, humble, common material! It is a lesson in humility! He is reminding us that the greatest works do not require the grandest tools, but the purest intent! We must all learn from this!"
Resigned, Lyno took a trowel. Seraphina, using one of her impossibly sharp knives, pried open the container. A soft, golden light emanated from within. Lyno scooped out a dollop of the shimmering, self-aware sealant. It felt warm and vaguely... friendly.
He knelt down and began to slap the goo onto the roof, spreading it over the hole. It was a messy, clumsy job. He got more of it on his hands than on the roof.
But the Sun-Steel agent was a miracle of alchemical engineering. It didn't need an expert. It just needed to be applied. The goo, sensing the structural imperfection, began to work on its own. It flowed into the cracks, solidified into a seamless, golden patch, and even reformed the missing shingles, perfectly matching the color and texture of the surrounding roof tiles. It was less a repair and more a miraculous healing.
In under a minute, the leak was fixed. Not just patched, but improved. That one small section of the "Tome and Trinket" roof was now the most structurally sound, waterproof, and existentially confident piece of architecture on the entire continent.
Lyno sat back on his heels, amazed in spite of himself. "Wow," he said. "That stuff works pretty well."
He then realized he had the glowing, sticky sealant all over his hands. He looked around for something to wipe them on. He saw nothing but roof tiles. Frustrated, he did the most practical thing he could think of. He wiped his goopy hands on the rough, red brick of his own chimney stack, leaving two perfect, shimmering golden handprints behind.
He then, very carefully, made his way back to the attic hatch, eager to be done.
On the ground, his followers stared up at the roof. They saw the golden patch, a seamless miracle of mending. And more importantly, they saw the two perfect, golden handprints now permanently bonded to the chimney.
A collective gasp went through the crowd in the square.
Valerius Zathra fell to his knees, his face a mask of utter ecstasy.
The Proof That Remains.
"He has not just mended the roof," the old sage wept, his voice cracking with pure emotion. "He has left his mark! His signature! A holy sigil, in the shape of the hands that shape the world! Generations of pilgrims will come to gaze upon this chimney! Entire schools of theology will be born from the study of the 'Golden Handprints of the Mender'!"
Brother Tepin's humming instantly transformed into a bellowing, full-throated new verse of his hymn, all about the sanctified chimney. The crowd roared its approval.
Lyno, climbing down from the attic, had no idea he had just created a national holy site and a permanent tourist attraction on his own house.
He just knew his hands were still sticky. And he really, really hoped the next divine crisis wouldn't involve plumbing.