Frey did not return to normal.
It simply started moving again.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like a body remembering how to breathe after being held underwater.
The streets were quiet — too quiet.
Men stood where they had fallen, hands braced on their knees, drawing in careful breaths. Others helped those still on the ground.
No shouting.
No panic.
The city had reached the edge of breaking.
It had not.
Torches burned once more along the walls. Not as bright. Not as steady.
But they held.
In the upper courtyard, silence lingered.
The place where the sky had torn open still felt wrong — as if something had passed through and left a scar on the air itself.
Torvyn was the first to move. He straightened, rolling tension from his shoulders with practiced control. His breathing had already steadied.
Caldrin rose more slowly, jaw tight, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Maevren hadn't moved. Only the steady rise and fall of her chest betrayed anything at all.
Ael'theryn stood a few paces behind them, eyes fixed on the sky — not where it was now, but where it had been.
Cassian pushed himself up from the stone, one hand braced against the wall. His gaze swept the courtyard, then beyond it, then back again.
Always measuring.
Nyokael stepped down from the balcony.
No announcement. No urgency.
But the courtyard shifted around him anyway.
Torvyn turned.
Caldrin stepped aside.
Maevren inclined her head.
Cassian straightened.
Ael'theryn finally looked away from the sky.
Nyokael stopped at the center.
For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes moved across each of them — not checking, not questioning.
Seeing.
Then—
"Report."
Torvyn answered first.
"Minimal casualties. Most have recovered. No structural damage to the citadel."
Caldrin followed, voice rough.
"Lower districts report the same. Injuries. No confirmed deaths."
Maevren spoke last.
"Morale is shaken," she said.
A beat.
"Not broken."
Nyokael gave a single nod.
Enough.
Cassian stepped forward.
"My lord."
Nyokael looked at him.
Cassian didn't hesitate.
"If that happens again," he said, "we fail."
The words settled. Precise. Unsoftened.
"Our supply lines are exposed. Storage is limited. Once winter closes the passes, we lose time we cannot afford."
Ael'theryn moved closer.
"You felt it," she said quietly. "That was not ordinary Veinstream."
Nyokael didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Her gaze lowered.
"Then we are further behind than I thought."
Not doubt.
Adjustment.
Torvyn spoke again.
"If he returns with intent—"
"He will."
Nyokael's voice cut through, calm and certain.
The courtyard stilled.
Not because of the words.
Because of how easily they were spoken.
Nyokael turned slightly, his gaze moving past them to the city below.
People were already working again — lifting tools, moving stone, continuing.
"They endured," he said.
Recognition.
Nothing more.
Then he looked back at them.
"Then we prepare."
Cassian moved first.
"We expand storage immediately — grain, preserved goods, anything that lasts. I'll redirect labor from nonessential work."
Nyokael nodded.
"Do it."
"Ael'theryn."
She straightened.
"Begin endurance training."
"For the soldiers?"
"For everyone."
A brief pause.
"Those who cannot endure pressure will not survive what comes next."
Ael'theryn held his gaze for a moment longer… then inclined her head.
"It will be done."
"Torvyn."
"My lord."
"Restructure patrol rotations. Reduce fatigue. Increase discipline."
"Yes, my lord."
"Caldrin."
He stepped forward.
"Find every weak point in the outer districts," Nyokael said. "Anything that fails under pressure — physical or otherwise."
Caldrin's expression hardened.
"I will."
"Maevren."
She met his gaze.
"Train those who stayed standing."
A beat.
"Not for strength."
Her eyes sharpened.
"For stability."
Maevren inclined her head.
"Understood."
Nyokael turned back to Cassian.
"Accelerate the design."
Cassian didn't ask which one.
"The winter structure."
"Yes."
"It will require more materials than we currently have."
"Then we acquire them."
A brief silence followed.
Not hesitation.
Alignment.
Ael'theryn spoke again.
"And the Empire?"
Nyokael's gaze shifted — not to her, but toward where Selene had gone.
"She will send what she promised."
Not hope.
Expectation.
Cassian exhaled once, quietly.
"Then we have a window."
"Use it."
No one argued.
No one questioned.
For the first time since the sky had torn open, there was direction.
Nyokael turned and began to walk.
The others followed without being told.
Orders spread outward.
Steps regained rhythm.
Voices returned — low, controlled, purposeful.
Frey did not simply recover.
It adapted.
Above them, the sky was whole again.
Clear.
Silent.
As if nothing had happened.
Nyokael did not look up.
He already knew what he had seen.
And more importantly—
what had seen him.
"Begin," he said.
And this time—
Frey moved without hesitation.
End of chapter 39.