The First Word
Noxen, the day of rest and secrets — Veilhour, when things begin to calm
The bakery was quiet in the deep hush of Veilhour, long after the loaves had cooled and the shutters had been latched against the wind. The warm scent of baked fruit still lingered in the rafters, and the fire in the hearth had burned down to a cradle of red embers.
Jaren sat alone at the kneading table, working a small lump of dough between his palms—not for baking, not for sale. Just to feel