Chapter 60 — What Remains After Power
The city did not wake all at once anymore.
That was the first thing Elowen noticed.
Before, mornings had snapped into place like clockwork bells, footsteps, shutters, voices aligning into efficiency. The rhythm had once been so precise it felt mechanical, as though some invisible conductor had raised a baton and the entire population moved on cue.
Now the dawn stretched.
Light pooled slowly across the tiled roofs. Smoke from chimneys rose at uneven intervals. Some shops opened late, their owners lingering over tea. Some conversations wandered in doorways instead of being cut short by obligation. Messengers paused to watch birds gather on the fountain statues. Workers sometimes forgot where they were headed because a neighbor had started telling a story worth hearing.
And some people simply stood on balconies and watched the sky until it changed color, as if relearning that sunrise was not an order but an offering.
