The day began in deceptive tranquility at Starfall. Sunlight filtered through the lavender haze above the gardens, the murmur of servants drifting from the eastern wing as breakfast fires were stirred to life. Everything was as it should be—orderly, peaceful, echoing the sense of stability Ethan had worked so hard to impose on the continent. But beneath that everyday comfort, a pulse of trouble wound unseen, threading through the stone walls and heavy silences, a shift that only the wary could sense.
Ethan felt it before anyone else. He woke before dawn, mind already busy with the day's tasks, yet his instincts wouldn't quiet. In the polished corridor outside his study, he paused—watching the world from behind glass, as if searching for the shadow that rumor had cast. He noticed the servants today spoke quieter, eyes darting, an uncertain energy rippling beneath their practiced bows. The air itself seemed charged, heavy, as if waiting for some unseen disaster or revelation.
