Time passed.
Not in loud declarations, but in steady, unrelenting motion—like a river that reshaped the land simply by existing.
After the first wave of slumfolk arrived at the Crydias Estate, they were given what they had never dared to hope for: time to breathe. Space to live. Food that filled the stomach and lingered. Clothes that fit, simple but clean. And training—not just for labor, but for purpose.
Alaric had not spoken to them again. He didn't need to. The symbol on their hands, warm and constant, reminded them that they were already chosen.
The stewards of House Crydias, directed by Lord Crydias himself, moved like quiet clockwork. Scribes and trainers began the long work of preparing the newly arrived for what was to come. They were not being taught how to bow or scrub floors.
They were being trained for a mission.
