The festival leaves behind more than footprints.
It leaves behind fractures.
Not loud ones. Not dramatic ones. The kind that run beneath polished stone and only reveal themselves when weight presses down too hard.
Aurora feels it the morning after she returns to the sanctuary.
The valley is calm. Too calm.
Reports from the southern settlement confirm cooperation will continue. The human council publicly dismissed the rumor campaign as manipulation. Finn writes that trade has actually increased.
On paper, they won.
But something has shifted.
Aurora stands near the map table again, fingers resting lightly over the web of new routes spreading across territories like veins.
"You're waiting for the other shoe," Maera observes quietly.
"Yes."
Maera studies her. "He showed himself."
"Yes."
"And he left."
"Yes."
"Then why are you uneasy?"
Aurora exhales slowly. "Because Darius Vell doesn't waste appearances."
The first crack appears at dusk.
