The Moon Festival returned to Ironclaw for the first time in four years.
Children raced through the courtyard with paper lanterns shaped like wolves and stars. Merchants spilled into the plaza. The forge burned hot, music floated from the hall, and laughter—real, unbroken laughter—rose like dawn from stone.
Grace stood atop the watchtower, lantern in hand, dressed in deep blue robes stitched with silver thread.
Aldric appeared at her side, breathless. “The courtyard's full. Some say we'll run out of wine before midnight."
“Let them drink it all," Grace said softly. “They've earned it."
He nodded, then gestured to the lantern in her hands. “You're going to say something, aren't you?"
“I have to."
He hesitated. “Will you mention him?"
“I have to," she repeated.
Aldric stepped back,
