The city did not recover.

It adapted.

By midday, the tremors no longer came in waves—they settled into a constant, uneasy vibration, like a held breath that refused to release. Stone no longer cracked outright. Instead, it flexed, groaning softly beneath the strain of unfamiliar rules. Wood did not splinter unless forced; it bent, protesting but enduring. Magic did not lash out in wild bursts as it once might have. It hesitated. Paused. Reconsidered. Then flowed… differently.

...