Pax discovered something crucial in the early days after his recruitment: people, no matter how intelligent or eager, tend to drift without structure.
This wasn't due to a lack of wisdom but rather because uncertainty breeds hesitation.
If he wanted what he was building to last beyond mere rumours or a fleeting week, it needed an anchor, something tangible, something repeatable, something that transformed the idea into reality.
That anchor manifested as a small, nondescript courtyard. Nestled between two half-abandoned buildings on the outskirts of the poorer quarter, its stone walls were cracked and its wooden gate sagged slightly on rusted hinges.
At its center stood a shallow well, long dry and surrounded by weeds that had claimed the cracks in the stone. To anyone with wealth or ambition, this place was worthless. But for Pax, it was perfect.
He rented it under a name that held both significance and ambiguity: Greyvale Community Soup Relief.
