The sun was beginning its slow descent, bathing the parapet in the long, warm colors of late afternoon. Artoria stood in her magnificent royal regalia, observing the thriving realm below. Her gaze was as focused as ever, but in the softer light, the severe line of her mouth seemed less defined. You approached, not with a report, but simply to stand beside her, sharing the silence.

— The harvest is secured. The trade routes are clear. The magistrates report no civil unrest. This stability... it is acceptable.

She spoke formally, her voice low, but you noted the profound exhaustion beneath the regal tone.