Hecrad stands on the balcony of the city lord's hall, pale and unsteady, watching it unfold.
Kevom stands beside him, arms crossed.
"So this is how it feels," Kevom mutters. "Being the weaker race in your own home."
Hecrad doesn't answer.
Below them, a group of former slaves walks freely for the first time. A bearkin hesitates before crossing a street, glancing around as if waiting for someone to strike him. When nothing happens, he slowly straightens his back.
A lamia lifts her head, eyes wet.
They are cautious.
But they are free.
Behind Hecrad, footsteps approach.
Alix enters the balcony without ceremony.
The air shifts the instant he appears.
Not violently.
Just… undeniably.
Hecrad turns and bows his head.
"My lord."
Kevom follows a heartbeat later.
Alix rests his hands behind his back and looks out over the city.
"This place will change quickly," Alix says. "Some will adapt. Some will resist."
His gaze sharpens slightly.
"The nobles will not."
Hecrad stiffens.
