In the public square, ordinary vendors argued over cabbage prices and stall boundaries with passionate, unfiltered stubbornness.
A cabbage seller handed change to a customer without glancing toward the old command tower, and the next buyer joined the argument.
The creepy, synchronized silence that previously smothered the municipal districts vanished completely with the destruction of the central core.
Hajin carried a bowl of hot broth through the clinic doorway, stepping carefully around several stacked supply crates.
Inside the recovery ward, dozens of former militia members rested on cots, whispering softly with visiting family members.
Vella sat on a stool in the corner, rubbing her temples while reviewing a stack of medical parchment.
"Eat some food before you collapse on the floor," he said, setting the bowl down on the nearby counter.
"I did not ask for room service, summoner," she murmured, glancing up with tired but remarkably steady eyes.
