After the first day of the Great Spring Tournament, time continued to pass while, in the darkness, various forces moved in coordination.
Several kilometers from the city, Karlos and his group had settled in a remote village. The atmosphere there was deceptively peaceful.
The farmers worked diligently under the warm sun. Some herded the few cows toward makeshift stables, locking them behind patched fences. Others threw handfuls of feed to the pigs while repairing the nets on the fish ponds, reinforcing them against nocturnal predators.
Their faces showed satisfaction, not because of hope, but because of habit. It was the expression of those who had learned to smile.
Karlos continued until he came to a rather isolated house that was about to collapse. There, in an old apple tree, on one of its branches.
