Somewhere in vester, a transport worker waved cheerfully to his colleagues as the evening shift ended.
"Good work today, Markus!" called one of the warehouse supervisors, a broad-shouldered woman named Thessa.
"You too, boss!" Markus replied, his smile broad and genuine. "Those supply crates aren't going to move themselves, eh?"
Laughter rippled through the small group gathered near the warehouse entrance. Markus was well-liked—always punctual, always helpful, always ready with a joke or encouraging word during the long shifts of moving supplies, maintaining equipment, and keeping Vester's logistical backbone functioning.
He walked through the evening crowds, nodding to familiar faces. A baker closing her shop. Guards changing watch. Young soldiers hurrying toward the training yards, still chasing those precious Academy slots with desperate determination.
Markus's smile never wavered.
