Peduviel did not sleep on its final night of celebration.
The palace had been transformed yet again.
Gold banners draped from every arch and column, catching the glow of hundreds of lanterns strung across the open courtyards. Music spilled freely into the night - strings and flutes weaving together in lively rhythm, accompanied by the steady pulse of hand-beaten drums that seemed to echo through the stone itself.
Wine flowed without restraint.
Laughter followed close behind.
Aya stood at the edge of the main courtyard for a time, watching it unfold.
This was not how the North celebrated.
There were no rigid formations, no quiet observance of rank beyond the necessary courtesies. Nobles and soldiers moved freely among one another, the distinctions between them softened beneath the shared joy of the evening. Even the guards posted along the perimeter allowed themselves small smiles as the music carried on.
It was… alive.
