As my entourage and I walk toward the back courtyard, I spot my brother, Aerynthar, already standing at the edge of the open archway. He is perfectly still, staring out at the grounds.
"Brother?" I ask as I finally reach the end of the hallway. "What are you doing here?"
He slowly turns his head to look at me. He doesn't say a word. He simply uses his eyes to gesture toward the courtyard.
I step forward and look. My eyes go wide. Behind me, the four master architects let out collective gasps of pure shock.
The courtyard looks nothing like it did before.
Thin sticks stand planted in straight, careful lines, all tied together with taut ropes that stretch neatly across the ground, forming a precise grid of equal squares.
Each section holds tiny stones—white, gray, and dark—placed with quiet intention. In the center, a lone stick casts a long shadow that slowly slides across the perfect rows, touching one square after another like a silent guide.
