The Script-House was quiet in the way a page is quiet just before the first word. Soluva set both palms on a waist-high frame of braided light and tempered brass—newborn, patient, a loom that breathed.
"Teach hands, not just walls," she said.
The frame woke. Threads of Flame Script slid from the rafters in orderly lines, caught on tiny gold teeth, and began to weave. From the corners of the room, the Memory Posts sent thin bars—Ward Grammar summaries, Comfort Lines, Count weather—soft enough to pass for dust. The loom drank them like a careful reader.
"Bind these," Soluva told it, working as much with tone as with law. "Guide Tag to mark you as instruction, Count Ignore Mark so graphs don't mistake ink for people, and a Quiet Budget pin—you never out-voice the Quiet Siren."
The Press—because that's what the loom was now—accepted the marks. The threads tightened. A single sheet grew from the frame: hand-wide, gold-edged, simple as bread. Words rose on its skin in short lines that already felt remembered.
CITIZEN CARD blinked once along the top—polite, readable. The letters warmed, then cooled again. The Comprehension Glow had learned its job: warm if read correctly, cool if not.
Soluva smiled. The sheet slid free, fluttered like a leaf in no wind, and re-rooted itself into a shallow tray on the table—the same living paper the Charter Leaf had taught by example.
"Good," she said. "Again."
Pocket-sized leaves began to gather—Keeper, Paver, Gardener, Archivist, Listener, Door Worker—each with a small humming v1 in the corner, each with corners friendly to fingers.
Oaths
On the lobby wall she raised a slab no taller than a chest and wrote the Reader's Oath in letters you could believe without trying:
> I read to help, not to punish.
I keep patterns, not people.
If comfort and caution are close, comfort first; check again next cycle.
When she read the oath aloud, the lines warmed—Comprehension Glow approving like a cat's blink.
On the Press bed she wrote the Writer's Oath, not for eyes but for hands:
> Small words first.
One task per line.
Show why.
Log fixes, not heroes.
The frame kept the vow by going quieter.
Pocket stacks
Seven stacks lifted their small voices: v1, v1, v1, v1, v1, v1, v1. The Citizen Card hopped from the tray and landed in Soluva's hand. She read it as she would a friend's note.
> Walk kindly; leave a breath; step when the bell lifts.
Do: Benches are for rest—linger is not blockage.
Do: Reading Way is a page—keep feet as letters.
Do: If a bell worries you, touch a Keeper badge, not a rumor.
Don't: Don't shout "emergency." Use Quiet Siren words: "Hush help."
Drill: Walk the Kind Pace track once with a friend.
The lines warmed in her palm. When she tried to speak them like orders, they cooled. Good. Guides should act like neighbors, not captains.
She thumbed through the role stacks. Each front line proved itself:
Keepers: Lanterns to calendar; if someone says "too bright," it is.
Pavers: Map first; feet second.
Gardeners: Share first; shade reads.
Archivists: Summarize first; keep reasons, not faces.
Listeners: If hush sounds, finish the sentence—then listen.
Door Workers: Door before light; tone before glow.
Each card carried three checklists, one don't, one drill. No more. The Comprehension Glow purred.
Handbook creep
Perfection is a noise. It arrived trying to help.
On the Pavers sheet a draft ribboned itself into fourteen edge-cases for Queue Lines. Fourteen ways to stand. Fourteen excuses to freeze.
"No," Soluva said, and the Press listened like a student leaning in.
"Examples over orders. Cap at three. If confused, follow the child sentence."
The text softened into three pictures anyone could act without thinking hard:
Two dots breath apart at the Greeting Arc.
One Queue Stone warmed first, the next next.
A step taken only when the bell lifts.
Underneath, the child sentence anchored the whole: Stand single. Leave a breath. Step when the bell lifts.
The extra eleven edge-cases surrendered their glory and became a small icon row—Guide vs Law—so feet knew the difference between friendliness and police.
Ink bleed
When she carried a warm stack past the Count Square, the margins peeped a little too hot. The board, conscientious, tried to invent people out of ink.
"Ink, not bodies," Soluva murmured. She lowered the Ink Weight—a cooler burn to the letters—and stamped a crisp Count Ignore Mark on the bottom right of every guide. The Throughput Board settled from hmm? to weather.
"Good manners," she told the Press. It rustled like a favorable page.
Badge tokens
From a side tray the Press dropped small Badge Tokens—neutral discs with role sigils but no names. Keepers could dim halos; Gardeners could tilt a crown leaf; Listeners could nudge the Hush Net by a breath; Pavers could paint a Greeting Arc; Archivists could touch a Redact Stone without the stone offering more than it should. A badge chimed once when lifted, then went quiet.
"Role rights, not identity," Soluva said. The tokens held their tongues.
Practicum brief
"Three hands," she called to the quiet, "to see if the guides can stand by themselves."
A girl in Keeper blue stepped in first—eyes level, posture careful. A Gardener boy followed, leaf-dust on his palms like an honest mistake. Last came a Listener with a voice you could trust to end well and a habit of looking at the room as if it had things to say.
Soluva did not ask their names. She handed them pocket cards and badges. The Comprehension Glow warmed when each read the child sentence aloud. Good: the first test of a manual is whether it can speak without a teacher.
"Route," Soluva said. "A1 on the seam. Goal: one Fold repaired by Breath Stitch. I watch. You do. We log the why."
The Minute Ring armed a corridor—no pull. They walked. The city remained a city.
At A1, the Seam Post waited with its Drift dial at 1 from yesterday's fold. The Rift Net had already whispered the same diagnosis, shy as paper deciding it wants a crease.
The Keeper read, steady: "Lanterns to calendar; if someone says 'too bright,' it is." She checked her halo, breathed once, left it alone. Then, softer, the Citizen Card: "Walk kindly; leave a breath; step when the bell lifts." The line warmed. The step turned into a thought instead of a stomp.
The Gardener read: "Share first; shade reads." His thumb found the crown leaf above the post. He waited for breath, not permission, then touched Tilt By Breath a leaf-width: one subtle tilt that would let the seam forget its habit of leaning.
The Listener read: "If the hush sounds, finish the sentence—then listen." She set the Hush Net 10% softer, because nobody fixes well when rooms pretend not to hear them.
"Proceed," Soluva said, and folded her hands behind her back the way confidence does.
They drew an Inhale ring small enough to be human. Hold compare—the Listener timed the breath; the Gardener eyed the leaf; the Keeper watched the Pulse Stone. Exhale equalize—warmth walked to cool, cool to warm; the crown leaf shared shade rather than hoarding; the hush kept budget. Seal dissolve-lock—a hair-thin line settled, promising to forget itself after two Breathmarks.
The post's Drift dial turned—1→0—under the Keeper's thumb. The Echo pebble offered a single, courteous pip.
"Log," Soluva said.
The Listener took a Rift Ticket and wrote with her voice as much as the tag: "A—Fold / page wanted a crease / Breath Stitch + Even Share / Seal = auto-fade."
The ticket slid into the slot. The Field Ledger breathed one line into being: fold stitched; dial 1→0; hush budget safe.
Soluva said nothing and counted to nine, the measure of a teacher not interrupting. Then she nodded. "If the fix makes a person tense, the fix is too large," she said. "You chose the small one."
They smiled without pride. Pride is for parades; this was a city.
Door Workers
Back at the Gate, she set a Door Worker card on the Reception Post for hands that meet the day:
> Door before light; tone before glow.
Open Protocol states.
Guest Tokens: warm then neutral.
Greeting Arc pips: stand single, leave a breath.
Welcome Dimmer: glare never greets.
When the card's line—tone before glow—was read aloud by a watch hand passing through, the Comprehension Glow warmed and went out again. The Tone Lock eased into Observe without needing to be told what else it was for.
Snippets that warm
She took one line from each role and read it near people who would someday carry them.
At the Throughput Board with a Keeper: "Weather only. If the board feels like gossip, it is." Warm.
Under the Garden Wall with a Gardener: "Don't ask leaves to carry heat's debt. Warmth goes home to the Fire Gardens." Warm.
At the Reading Way with a Paver: "Grip Grain only if dew speaks first." Warm.
By the Redact Stone with an Archivist: "Summarize first—reasons survive longer than faces." Warm.
In a Listening Room with a Listener: "Finish the sentence; then listen." Warm. The room's light dimmed to matte the way soft attention does.
Across the court the Handbook Press kept its loom whisper: thread-thread, law-law, leaf-leaf. When Soluva looked up, she saw pocket cards flicker out toward benches, posts, the wall—map bloom in miniature: small, gold-edged leaves coming to rest exactly where hands might have reached for them anyway.
Feedback Notches
She cut shallow Feedback Notches into the Memory Posts—thin mouths just wide enough for a thumb card.
"What confused you?" the notch asked, and because it asked without suspicion, answers arrived like rain that had asked permission to be heard.
Queue stones too warm at noon.
Bench halos hard to see at dusk.
Story Stone summary cuts off second line if spoken quickly.
The Press ingested these without becoming flustered and flagged v1.1. Three deltas grew like margin notes:
1. Queue stones in high sun: lower thermal hold by one grade; add a cool vein fed from Cistern during Rest and Open.
2. Bench halos at dusk: edge line brightened one shade under calendar; Count Ignore Mark stamped to keep the board honest.
3. Story Stone cadence: accept two breaths before commit; glow softly until the second line finishes.
A thin v1.1 strip printed and slid under each stack like a bookmark.
"Alive on purpose," Soluva said, pinning a title on the board: Citizen Handbooks (v1) — living, not finished.
Ink behaves; Count relaxes
One last test near the Count Square: a young Keeper—badge chime, then quiet—carried a stack past the board at a trot. The Count needle thought about spiking; the Count Ignore Mark reminded it to mind itself. The needle stayed weather; the Keeper slowed to walk after reading the Citizen Card aloud, which warmed in his hand like a shared joke.
A page for future hands
Soluva set a larger sheet—Wall Sheet size—into the Press and let it weave a map that wasn't a map: who to ask first.
> If it glows too proud — Keeper.
If it reads too soft — Gardener.
If it counts too much — Listener.
If it remembers too hard — Archivist.
If your feet feel bossed — Paver.
If the door looks like a mouth — Door Worker.
At the bottom, small:
> If none of these help, ask the wall for its child sentence.
(Every part of the city must keep one.)
The sheet warmed; even the Garden Wall seemed to stand straighter, as if grateful for being asked instead of used.
Practicum tails
At A1, the three trainees placed their Badge Tokens back into a shallow bowl by habit that had not existed a day ago and already felt old. The bowl chimed once. None of the tokens kept a name.
At the Script-House, Soluva slid their Rift Ticket into the Field Ledger and watched it become policy: Fold mended at A1, Even Share bias protecting Reading Way; auto-fade seal; hush budget under cap. No heroes. A city cannot afford them. It needs habits.
"Lesson?" she asked, not because she didn't know, but because she wanted to hear the voices that would one day teach without her.
The Keeper: "Short words are stronger."
The Gardener: "Fix small; leaves read later."
The Listener: "We don't chase quiet. We keep it."
The Press glowed as if someone had stroked its back.
The door flips to the next week
Evening touched the Dawn Court the way you touch a sleeping child's hair. The Watch Lanterns held at calendar. The Hush Net stayed a kindness rather than an event. The Pillars—See, Endure, Enfold, Lock—breathed Ward II's calm four-beat, a pulse under thought.
Soluva gave the Press one last instruction:
"If a line runs longer than ten words, offer a child sentence under it."
The frame accepted the Comprehension Rule and quieted again.
She pinned a blank sheet on the board titled First Guild Practicum (Day 21) and wrote a small promise under it:
> Many hands. One rhythm.
The city heard without flinching.
The pen did not vanish. It waited, patient as a promise.
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