Several days had passed in unusual calm in Nocture, almost too calm. Thin black mist still drifted low along the city streets, the scent of black roses from the castle garden mingling with the faint smell of hot iron from the dwarf forges that worked without rest. The southern farmlands continued to yield abundant harvests, the western livestock grew steadier, and lycanthrope patrols guarded the mythril vault perimeter more tightly. No new attacks, no suspicious reports from Alicia, no strange whispers from Stacia as she read the latest trade documents. Everything appeared normal.
But to Sylvia, that calm was like the surface of a lake too still something must be lurking beneath.
