Arthur’s POV
Peace is louder than war.
No one tells you that.
They tell you peace is quiet—soft days, gentle nights, the absence of screams. But real peace? It hums. It argues. It demands attention in places where violence used to make decisions simple.
I wake before dawn to the sound of the city thinking.
Footsteps on stone. Early voices. A bell rung too soon because someone forgot the hour and didn’t apologize for it.
Life, ungoverned by fear.
It unnerves me more than any battlefield ever did.
I dress slowly, fastening my coat with hands that no longer shake when they’re clean. The Mark sits warm and steady beneath my skin—present, not pulsing. It hasn’t tried to take over in weeks.
Sometimes that still feels like loss.
Most days, it feels like trust.
—
The Continuance doesn’
