Time is the most ruthless force; it never halts for anyone.
Only a few days had passed since the night of the great fire, yet the flames, riots, and assaults already felt like shattered bubbles—everyone who had witnessed them could recount their emergence and demise but could not recall their exact forms.
Here, memory began to diverge. People started narrating their own versions of events: tales of cavalry shattering frozen rivers, fiery tornadoes devouring cathedrals, and conspiracies swirling above the city.
Regardless, life had to go on—even if life itself was merely a journey of suffering. Steelburg had already begun to look ahead.
The bloodstains at the municipal square had been washed clean, and the furniture and carriages clogging up the river were being salvaged.
With the assistance of the garrison, a temporary rationing system was implemented, and the shops and markets on the less-affected North Shore resumed business.
