Under the clear skies and crisp winds, Kyle's village looked peaceful on the surface.
The workers were returning to their fields, the guards were back to their routines, and the children dared to play near the outer fences again.
But beneath that surface calm was a persistent unease that threaded through the villagers' hearts.
Ever since the prisoners from Okla were brought in, tension had seeped into the atmosphere like smoke in still air.
The people knew those prisoners once held weapons against them. That they were, by order or belief, enemies.
And yet, they also saw the fear in those same prisoners' eyes—the hollow defeat, the betrayal they suffered from their own Grand Priest.
There was pity, yes.
But suspicion, too. The air was cold one day, warm the next—just like the villagers' reception to the prisoners.
Kyle leaned against the balcony rail outside his temporary office, eyes narrowed in thought as Bruce approached.
