Morning arrived quietly.
Too quietly.
A pale golden brightness spilled over the town as it always did, bathing the stone streets, tiled roofs, and wooden signboards in gentle warmth.
Awakeners stirred from their nightly rest and stepped outside, stretching their limbs and yawning as they prepared for another day of battle.
Yet something was wrong.
They did not greet one another with loud voices or casual laughter.
They spoke in whispers.
A pair of healers stood near the entrance of a small clinic, leaning far closer than usual as they murmured to one another.
Their eyes darted around instinctively, as if the walls themselves might overhear their conversation.
Then the rumors began to move.
Not loudly.
Not openly.
They spread like smoke, thin, silent, and impossible to stop once released.
Inside an alchemist's shop near the eastern street, glass bottles clinked softly as an alchemist leaned toward one of his regular customers.
His voice was barely above a breath.
