The rain was still falling, but it was no longer a suffocating, cold downpour. Instead, it was a sweet rain, washing away the old dust.
The gloom over the Royal Capital, Zelheim, was gradually thinning. A few faint rays of golden light peeked through the gaps in the clouds, as if trying to tear open the oppressive shroud that had hung for so long.
The rain washed the stone paths of the Salmon District until they gleamed, scouring away the greasy grime. The air carried the crispness of the sea breeze—the scent of what one might call "new life."
On both sides of the street, long-silent shops were taking down their tightly shut shutters. The clatter and clang of repairs rose and fell.
The liveliest of them all was the shop with the "Gray Marsh Trading Company" sign. A crowd was gathered out front, their eyes twinkling with optimism and hope.
