Vigil by the Artificial Flame

An amber beacon flickered from the lower tier of the side table. I advanced six deliberate paces, scanning the polished grain for elevation shifts or unstable footing. The sector was clear. At the center rested a small votive cylinder containing a mechanical flame—a solitary diode pulsing with steady, rhythmic luminescence. It carried neither the smoke nor the searing heat of Nocturne's kilns, yet its vigilance held firm against the descending gloom. I lowered my stance to one knee, resting my left gauntlet flat against the timber. Before this quiet light, I recited the litany of endurance. The watch is established.