"Three more baskets of tomatoes," I said, voice low so only Asher heard. "Double what we planned."
He grinned, sweat beading on his brow. "A record, Abraham. God's favor."

I clapped his shoulder and moved on. This was my life now-meaning carved from simple labor and the quiet certainty that had replaced the old storm inside me. I had buried Dorack and his Kris beneath the villa floorboards. Abraham Dun served the Stoneheart brothers and their God; that God, in turn, had granted me peace I never thought possible.

Kenan's community had outgrown its cradle. What began as a handful of broken souls-widows, beggars, men emptied by war or debt-now spilled across Vernise like roots under stone. One large timber church stood at the heart, its doors open to hundreds every seventh day. Everywhere else the faithful gathered in cellars, market squares, or the back rooms of taverns: a quiet network that fed the hungry, paid the usurers, and spoke truth to power.

Kenan had never sought politics, yet politics had found him. Taxes rose; plagues swept the slums; lords squeezed the poor until bones showed. Where the city failed, the community stepped in. Kenan chose words over swords, diplomacy over blood. Crust-ever the soldier-trained a militia of able-bodied believers in basic sword and shield, "for the day words are not enough," he said. Kenan let him, but only just.

I had risen fast. Kenan discipled me in faith and in the city's treacherous currents; Crust honed my edge in the practice yard. My hands, once quick to kill, now signed ledgers, counted coin, and carried messages to guild-masters who feared the growing flock more than they feared bandits. I learned patience the way I once learned footwork-one reluctant step at a time.

The end-of-month banquet was tradition: widows, orphans, the homeless, anyone with an empty belly. We sang psalms beneath the oaks, Kenan exhorted, then we feasted. This time the crowd mocked our stores. Twice the expected mouths. Joy and worry braided tight.
"We'll run dry before the fish course," Asher reported, excitement edged with panic.

I found Kenan beside the bread ovens, sleeves rolled, flour on his forearms. I signaled with a tilt of my head. He excused himself from Sister Agnes and crossed the yard.
"Problem?" he asked.
"Food. We're short."
He smiled, serene. "Then the Lord multiplies."
"We're out of grain, oil, and half the wine."
"Take from the red store."

I blinked. "The red store is for core families only. Winter reserve."
Kenan laid a hand on my shoulder. "We invited them to a banquet, Abraham, not a ration. Empty my coffers if need be. Tell Agnes to cook like kings are coming." He walked away, already calling for the hymn leaders.

Minutes later he mounted the low platform beneath the great oak. Sunlight slanted through the leaves, gilding the sea of upturned faces. Silence fell like a held breath.
"Brethren," Kenan began, voice carrying without effort, "the Lord has brought us a multitude..."

I did not hear the rest. I was already moving-counting barrels, calming cooks, sending boys to the river for extra water. Somewhere in the press of bodies a child laughed, bright as breaking glass. The sound lodged in my chest, warm and dangerous, the way Keiya's laugh once had.

Rina flickered across my mind-green eyes, dust on the road, the weight of "join me" still unanswered. I crushed the memory. Purpose, not poison. I had work to do.

By dusk the tables groaned. Steam rose from trenchers of fish stew, loaves torn by eager hands, tomatoes bright as blood. Kenan circulated, touching shoulders, murmuring blessings. Crust stood at the gate, arms folded, eyes scanning the treeline where torchlight from the city guard flickered like restless stars.

I wiped sweat from my brow and allowed myself one steady breath. For the first time in years, I felt the shape of tomorrow without dread.

Then the back door-known only to core members-creaked open. Three figures stumbled through. One was bloody, beaten half to death, his face a swollen ruin. The other two half-carried him, panic in their eyes. They did not shout; the banquet's hymns and laughter continued unbroken. But the sight struck me like a war-horn. I started forward. Crust was already moving, Kenan a step behind.

"We have trouble." One of the figures announced.
The night had just turned.