The next day arrived quietly, slipping over Greyvale City like a breath held too long before finally being released.
Dawn broke in soft gradients of gold and pale amber, the rising sun spilling light across rooftops, stone roads, and the distant tree line that surrounded the city like a silent guardian.
From afar, Greyvale appeared unchanged, chimneys puffing smoke into the cool air, merchants setting up their stalls, and the steady rhythm of people stepping into another day of labor and routine.
Yet beneath this familiar surface lay something heavier: a subtle tension threaded through the city's pulse, an unspoken awareness that something had shifted irrevocably.
It had been more than three days since the Guild was attacked.
Three days since smoke and screams etched themselves into memory. Three days since names began to fade from daily conversation, replaced by murmured condolences and the hollow weight of absence.
