The palace no longer echoed with panic.
A month ago, the name of the void had shaken its halls; the whispers of the Engine had rattled Malveris to his bones.
But in the days since, Aelindria had stamped her will upon the household. She would not allow them to cower before shadows.
Her husband was alive. That was enough.
She said it again and again to herself, and to anyone who dared to look at her with pity.
The bond that bound her to Caedrion still pulsed, faint but steady, in her mind.
She felt his presence like a heartbeat at the edge of a dream.
He was gone, yes, stolen to some unfathomable elsewhere, but not dead.
And if he lived, he would return.
Until then, Dawnhaven could not falter.
Aelindria stood before the great forges of the industrial quarter, the crucibles of steel and brass that Caedrion had built with his Architect's insight.
The air shimmered with heat, the machines pounding like the heart of a giant.
