Five days had passed since the first reform meeting in the City of Black Tortoise.
The changes Luciel had announced were already reshaping the rhythms of daily life.
Below the city's high cliffs stretched the outer ring — a crescent-shaped sprawl of wooden homes and stone paths. The residents called it the Outer City, though most said the name with a trace of pride now, rather than shame.
Inside one of those houses, a dozen people were hard at work. The air smelled of wood shavings and oil; sunlight cut through the open shutters, falling over tables, benches, and the half-finished furniture that crowded every corner.
"Once we finish this cabinet," said a middle-aged man, wiping sweat from his brow, "we'll earn three contribution points, right?"
"That's what the Moon Lady said last time," answered an older woman beside him, her hands busy sanding the legs of a chair.
Another voice piped up from the far corner. "What's our next job after this one? Do we pick a new task?"
