The main hall of Moonrise had never looked like this before.
Sunlight spilled in through windows thrown wide for the first time in seasons. Golden light kissed the faded banners and fresh rushes underfoot. The air was laced with the scent of pine, warm bread, and healing herbs. It didn’t just smell like celebration—it smelled like a beginning.
Warriors leaned against pillars, their stances loose for once. No one clutched a blade. No one watched the door. Their arms were crossed not in defense but in quiet ease. Healers, both Moonrise-born and rogue, huddled together in scattered circles. They swapped salves and stories, their laughter breaking open the silence that once filled this place.
At the head of the hall, Xander stood on the dais. The grief hadn’t faded from his face, but someth
