The departure from the palace altered nothing and everything at once. Celestia's absence was noted first in small ways: a delayed response that resolved itself anyway, a council session that proceeded without glancing toward the empty head seat. Then, gradually, her absence became unremarkable. The systems absorbed it as they had been designed to do.
She did not vanish. She relocated.
A modest estate on the northern hills became her residence, chosen not for symbolism but for quiet. It had once belonged to an archivist, its rooms lined with shelves rather than banners. From its windows, the capital appeared distant, softened by elevation and haze.
Celestia found the silence unfamiliar.
For decades, sound had meant urgency: footsteps, messengers, bells, debate. Here, silence stretched without expectation. The first weeks were the hardest. She woke before dawn, instinctively preparing to receive reports that no longer came. Habit lingered long after necessity departed.
