VII. The Quiet Years Power does not always roar. After storms and triumphs came quiet afternoons: Alina sat on the veranda, teaching embroidery to girls and geometry to boys, tasting in the slow stitches the pulse of continuity. Travelers still called her marvelous; merchants still traded jars labeled “Milky Hot — Alina’s Blend.” Yet she remained uninterested in fame. Her joy came from small certainties: a child’s laugh, the steady churn of a butter-making day, the precision of a repaired sluicegate.