YEAR SIX — SPRING
No one trusted the peace.
That was how it started.
Not with relief.
Not with celebration.
With suspicion.
When the first month passed without a major narrative attack, the council started checking corners like the Editor might be hiding behind procedural reports.
When the second month passed, the waiting rooms got quieter—but no one let themselves say *better* out loud until a third district confirmed their rest-house rotation was actually working.
By the third month, the alliance had begun to breathe differently.
Still cautious.
Still carrying scars.
But breathing.
Not because the war of meaning had ended.
Because, for once, it wasn't winning every day.
The anti-despair structures held.
The waiting rooms evolved.
The witness houses filled and emptied and filled again.
