"In the quiet between decisions, we found the future calling us home."
The initial shock of the decision had settled, replaced by the satisfying hum of coordinated effort. The return to Roanridge was no longer a restless wish; it was a confirmed directive, stamped with the approval of Nyra's Alpha assent and Valehart's rigorous Beta strategy. We were moving home. We were back in our apartment, the scent of fresh coffee and Valehart's meticulous, multi-coloured planning markers dominating the air. Spread across the large dining table was not dinner, but the future detailed blueprints of the Roanridge estate, overlaid with schematics of the Northern Castle, and a daunting stack of transfer protocols.
