Hector marched past them, fully ignoring the disaster. "IT IS PART OF THE PROCESS! DON'T QUESTION THE FUTURE!"
He scribbled on parchment after parchment:
hull curvature
iceberg impact diagrams
steel load capacity
buoyancy enchantment removal
heat signatures of non-mana engines
"WHY HUMANS IN TITANIC INVENTED THIS DEATH TRAP???"
At one point he knocked over a cup, grabbed a bottle of Seraphine's rice wine, and began drinking it like an antidote. "THIS IS FUEL FOR INTELLECT," he declared, gulping it down.
The Tower… smelled divine. Seraphine's new scented candles from the Chubby Factory burned in every corner—lavender glow, cinnamon spice, lemon-breeze, warm vanilla.
A fire mage inhaled deeply. "At least if the tower explodes, it'll smell like pastries…"
"Sir, PLEASE," an apprentice begged Hector, "stop working. You haven't slept in forty hours—"
Hector slammed a blueprint on the desk. "I CAN SLEEP WHEN I MEET LADY SERAPHINE AND INTERVIEW HER FOR HER BRAIN."
