The silence left by the static was a cup waiting to be filled. For days, it remained empty. The people of Aethelburg moved through their freed city like ghosts in a familiar house, startled by the absence of the constant, grinding noise that had been their unwanted companion. The freedom was a vast, empty space, and they huddled within themselves, uncertain how to move within it.
The procedural chants—"The stone fits the stone," "The fire needs wood"—had fallen away, but the ghost of the rhythm remained, a mental metronome that kept their actions efficient, joyless, and safe. They were functional. They were whole. And they were deeply, quietly lost.
Elara felt the collective paralysis like a weight on her own spirit. The Shard pulsed with a soft, patient light, a gentle question mark against her skin. It was ready. They were not.
