The rich, warm aroma of freshly baked sourdough rolled through the cobblestone alleyway as dawn broke over the frost-dusted roofs of Ouro.
Inside the municipal bakery, three brick ovens radiated steady warmth into the flour-dusted workspace where loaves rested on cooling racks.
Tessa stood beside the central preparation counter, her fingers pressing into a mound of soft dough with practiced, steady focus.
Yet despite the familiar scent of yeast and roasted barley, tears tracked silent lines down the flour on her cheeks.
Hajin stepped quietly through the low doorway, followed closely by Vella and young Ash, who carried a stack of fresh firewood.
"The morning breadline forms outside your door in twenty minutes, grandmother," the summoner said gently, leaning against the counter partition.
"My hands know the movements without my mind needing to direct them," the baker answered, her voice cracking with quiet sorrow.
