A day passed in Starforge as if nothing had changed.
Hammers still rang. Apprentices still complained about sore wrists and stubborn runes.
But every sound now sat inside a larger, deliberate silence.
People moved along "ordinary" routes that were not ordinary at all. They stood where Anvil-Horn had told them to stand. They rotated on schedules that looked like work shifts and were, in truth, guard cycles.
Formation keepers leaned against pillars as if resting. Their fingers were always within reach of anchor runes. Healers carried kits that looked like habit, but their eyes kept measuring exits.
Even laughter had a position.
Starforge continued living.
Starforge also held its breath.
By dusk, the unease thinned into something closer to doubt.
A few whispered that maybe the vision had been wrong. Starforge was hard to locate. Their barrier misled the world. Their territory did not even sit cleanly on most maps.
