Tyla’s POV
The first real failure happens on a market day.
Not quietly. Not philosophically. Loud enough that people argue about it for weeks afterward, reshaping the story to fit their comfort.
A grain contract collapses—misread terms, assumed consent, trust extended too far in one direction and not far enough in another. By noon, two storehouses are locked, one caravan is stranded, and an entire district is convinced it has been cheated.
It is not a catastrophe.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Catastrophes unify people through fear. This—this is inconvenience sharpened into resentment. Hunger’s shadow without its urgency. Plenty mismanaged.
I hear about it while helping mend a cracked balustrade on the north stairs. Someone mentions my name mid-sentence, then stops as if catching th
