The sun hung low over Zamorde Port, gilding the crests of the waves until the entire harbor glowed like melted honey.
The air was sharp with salt, clean and unburdened by the shadow magic that had choked the town for months.
Somewhere in the distance, a boat's bell rang soft and slow, a sound that no longer made anyone flinch or hurry indoors.
The manor courtyard hummed with quiet life: the faint clink of dishes from the kitchen, the distant laugh of a child, the steady shuffle of townsfolk stopping by to leave baskets of bread, dried fruit, and cured meat for their journey.
Only a day had passed since they'd watched the last of the cult's influence crumble.
It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet also like it had only just happened.
The peace was still new, still fragile, still something she had to remind herself was real.
Hannah stood at the edge of the courtyard, staring down the dirt road that cut north toward the rolling hills.
