The morning after the execution felt heavier than usual in Nocture. Thin black mist still drifted low across the castle courtyard, the scent of black roses that had bloomed overnight mingling with the faint smell of dried blood from the now-cleaned obsidian pillar. The city's residents moved slowly; the clang of dwarf hammers from the iron district sounded softer than normal, the howls of lycanthropes in the training arena more restrained. Everyone knew: the queen had purged the traitors, but the shadow had never truly vanished.
