The Domini saga

The Hall of Welcome rests in a warm hush. Hearthlight shakes over the tables, and the relay below answers with a low, steady hum instead of a pulse. Kynes sits among his people while bread, stew, and quiet laughter pass from hand to hand.

Bren leans close beside him, her shoulders finally loose. Sable sets a cup down for Sella, careful and almost ceremonial, while the ledger lies nearby like a guest at ease. Even the room seems to breathe slower.

Walter lingers near the fire, composed as ever, while the Reeve sits with ash still faint on their fingers, watching the meal with a wary sort of gratitude. No one speaks of tunnels or seals. The silence is not empty, it is shared.

Sella tilts their head toward Kynes, waiting with open patience. Bren glances between them and the fire, and the whole hall settles into a comfortable pause, as if it is listening for Kynes to choose the next word.

The Reeve’s shoulders ease by a fingerbreadth. The ash on their hand darkens under the hearthlight as they look from Kynes to the quiet room, measuring the claim against the calm below.

Bren lets out a low breath through her nose, half amused, half relieved. Sella’s patience sharpens into a small, approving nod, while Walter remains by the fire, still as a held thought.

The Reeve glances down at their ash-smudged fingers, then back to Kynes. For the first time tonight, the wariness in their face looks like something softer, and a little uneasy.