Night draped itself over Aracina like a velvet mantle, but for the first time in weeks, it was not the harbinger of fear. No, this night was not one of restless watchmen gripping spears atop the walls, nor of anxious whispers behind barred doors. This night, the city roared with life.
The streets, which had once been eerily quiet under curfew, were now rivers of laughter and music, flowing from every tavern, every square, every open window. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and wine, a fragrance far sweeter now that it did not carry the tang of smoke and blood.
Fires blazed in great iron braziers, their golden tongues licking at the dark, banishing the shadows that had haunted the city for too long. Beneath their flickering light, men and women danced—some to the frantic rhythm of drums, others locked in slow, swaying embraces, drinking in the relief of survival.
