Autumn spread its cloak over Starfall, the crisp air laced with the scent of harvest and the distant promise of frost. The estate thrummed with purpose, yet beneath the steady routines, tension was thick as old syrup. Ethan sensed it in the way councilors spoke, the quick glances exchanged as they passed, the way servants lingered in doorways just a moment longer to catch stray snatches of rumor.
Each day brought new challenges—the Phoenix merchant's caravan, robbed and left smoldering on the northern road; Ironwood councilors erupting in arguments sharp enough to echo through the market square; Mira's festival lights burning late but unable to drown out the anxiety flickering among the elders. Starfall's deliberate reforms—land distribution, market contracts, transparent governance—had stabilized much, but new grievances grew. The artifact's presence haunted every discussion, a silent undertow pulling at the sturdiest foundations.
