The town of Austmark rose early. Bells chimed soft and clear at dawn, not for worship but to mark the start of another structured day. Lucian and Alice stood near the town square as a procession formed—the weekly "Harmony Walk," a ritualized affirmation of communal duty.
Citizens marched in silence, each holding an object symbolizing their job: a smith with a horseshoe, a seamstress with folded cloth, a teacher with a small chalkboard. Children carried small tools of imitation, learning their futures before they understood the shape of choice.
Lucian's brow furrowed as he watched. "They act like priests honoring sacred relics."
Alice murmured, "But it isn't worship. It's surrender."
The procession ended at a raised platform where a councilor recited from a scroll: "We gave our dreams to the earth so that others might eat, rest, and thrive. This is our chosen peace."
Lucian whispered, more to himself than anyone, "This isn't peace. It's embalmed obedience."
