The village did not rest long. Sleep came in scraps, traded like bread, each hour bought with effort. But dawn rose stubborn, burning the mist from the furrows and showing what remained: a settlement still standing, scars stitched into its timber, ditches drawn twice as deep, and villagers moving with the dogged will of people who knew they had been tested and would be tested again.
Lena stood with her back against a fence, her body still stiff from the duel. The crowns hummed faintly above her, weaker than she liked but alive. In her lap the silver quill rested, too light to trust, its faint hum reminding her of the Reviser’s grin. Dominic leaned beside her, arms crossed, watching the villagers hammer a plank into place as if every nail struck at fear itself.
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Morning Resolve
Sani
