Another quiet week passed beneath the golden skies of late spring, a peaceful lull that blanketed the estate like a warm embrace. There were no urgent letters from the capital. No inspections. There were no new monsters lurking in the woods. Just the gentle rhythm of farmhands at work, animals grazing in the pastures, and the soft laughter of household life.
In that serenity, something sweeter began to blossom.
The coffee trees were thriving. Their slender green limbs had begun to flower in delicate, ivory-white blooms, releasing a light, honeyed fragrance that made early morning walks through the new groves feel like wandering through a living dream. The hops, too, fastened to tall wooden poles, stretched eagerly toward the sky, their pale-green cones peeking through rows like secret treasures waiting to be harvested.
