The success of the harvest feast was a sweet, heady wine that lingered in the air of Caer Lunden for days. The shared grain in the common granary became a tangible symbol of their unity, a fortress against the coming winter and the ghosts of old hatreds. Laughter came easier, and the greetings between Roman, Celt, and Saxon held a warmth that was no longer purely political.
But in the longhouse that served as the council chamber and the heart of their government, a different kind of silence grew. It was a quiet punctuated by the space at their oaken table where a massive figure should have been. They had built a new chair for him, of stout British oak, larger than the others, its back carved with the interwoven symbols of a Roman eagle, a Celtic dragon, and a Saxon raven. It remained empt
