Eastpoint rose like a jagged knife at the edge of the kingdom. Its docks bustled with trade, its streets never truly slept, and its guildhall was a fortress of ink, gold, and quiet rebellion. This was where the shift would begin—not with fanfare, but with undeniable momentum.
The symposium was held in the Old Archives Building, once a legal library, now repurposed for strategic optics. Columns lined the central hall, each carved with crests of families who no longer held power here. A thousand parchment scrolls lined the walls, reminders that law could be shaped, pressed, rewritten.
Fenwick stood at the dais, nervous but composed. His speech, rewritten thrice by Mina and myself, framed reform as stability—not upheaval. As tradition refined, not destroyed.
"The Eastern Trade Review," he
