“Don’t move.”Mira’s voice was tight, controlled, the kind she used when panic was clawing at her throat.Terry laughed weakly from the stone floor. “That was the plan anyway.”Jalen knelt beside him. “You just told the world it doesn’t need you, and then you collapsed in front of everyone.”“I prefer the term… dramatic punctuation,” Terry muttered.Corvin whispered, displeased. You bled unnecessarily.Terry closed his eyes. No. I bled honestly.The chamber was loud with distant voices, arguments echoing through corridors, streets alive with disagreement that hadn’t yet turned violent.Mira pressed glowing fingers to Terry’s chest. “Your pulse is unstable.”“I know,” Terry said. “It’s… oscillating.”Jalen frowned. “That’s not a word I like hearing in relation to your heart.”“It’s not my heart,” Terry replied. “It’s the pattern.”Mira paused. “Explain.”Terry stared at the ceiling. “The world pushed back. Not against him. Against me.”Corvin chuckled softly. You ceased being the axis.

Across Valoria, arguments continued, imperfect, human, unresolved.“Terry.”The voice wasn’t Mira’s.It wasn’t Jalen’s.It wasn’t Corvin’s either.It came from the link, raw, fractured, unfamiliar.“State your name,” Terry said hoarsely, fingers tightening on the stone rail.A pause. Breathing. Too fast.“My name is Reth,” the voice said. “I… I was marked.”The word hit harder than any spell.Mira’s voice cut in sharply, layered with strain. “Terry, he’s one of the dockside speakers. The one who refused leadership.”Reth swallowed audibly. “I didn’t want it. I told them I didn’t want it.”Terry closed his eyes. “What’s happening to you?”“They’re listening,” Reth said. “Not arguing. Watching. Waiting for me to decide.”Jalen muttered through the link, “That’s worse than obedience.”“Yes,” Terry agreed softly. “It is.”Across Valoria, the pattern shifted.Not broadly.Not structurally.Individually.People began turning, not to councils, not to crowds, but to specific faces.Those mark

Night fell on a city that no longer waited for miracles. People argued over scars and mistakes, not blessings.“You didn’t sleep.”Mira didn’t ask it like a question.Terry sat on the stone bench beneath the open archway, watching the city argue itself awake. “Neither did the city.”“That’s not an answer,” Jalen said, stepping closer with a cup of water. “Drink.”Terry took it. Didn’t sip.Corvin whispered, low and watchful. Belief is harder to sever than bonds.“Yes,” Terry murmured. “That’s why he’s coming for it.”Mira folded her arms. “Then say it out loud. What does he think you believe in?”Terry stared at the horizon. “That people will choose restraint when it matters.”Jalen grimaced. “That’s optimistic.”“It’s necessary,” Terry replied. “Without it, everything collapses back into control.”It didn’t arrive as magic.It arrived as a story.A runner burst into the chamber, breath ragged. “There’s talk spreading, fast.”Mira snapped, “About what?”The runner swallowed. “That you

The city endured, not smoothly, not cleanly, but honestly.“I don’t feel it.”Mira stopped walking.Jalen turned slowly. “Feel what?”Terry pressed two fingers to his temple, then to his chest, then let his hand drop. “The pull. The sense of direction. It’s gone.”Corvin stirred, quieter than he’d ever been. The horizon is… blank.Mira’s jaw tightened. “That thing you always did. The pauses before decisions. The way you’d look like you were listening to something none of us could hear.”Terry nodded once. “That.”Jalen let out a breath. “So now what? You guess?”Terry almost laughed. “Now I’m like everyone else.”Silence settled, not heavy, but uncertain.They moved through streets that felt subtly altered. Not damaged. Not hostile.Just… awake.People argued openly now. Not in whispers. Not in fear of being overheard by power.A pair of dockworkers shouted over a broken pulley system.A healer snapped back at a council clerk about ration delays.No one looked to Terry for permission.

Night fell on a city that had felt perfection and chosen to let it pass.It began quietly. Too quietly.Mira noticed first.“Do you hear that?”Jalen frowned. “Hear what?”“Nothing,” she said. “No arguments. No shouting.”Terry stopped walking.The street ahead was… calm.People moved with purpose. Too much purpose.Lines formed without debate. Orders were followed without friction.Relief hummed in the air like a held breath finally released.Corvin stirred sharply. This is not organic.Terry’s stomach tightened. “He’s here.”They reached the central square.And there he stood.Not elevated.Not radiant.Just present.Silver hair catching the light. Hands open. Calm certainty radiating outward.People gathered, not in fear, not in worship, in gratitude.A woman laughed through tears. “He fixed the routes!”A man shouted, “Food’s already moving!”Someone else cried, “He knew exactly where to send us!”Mira whispered, horrified, “He’s not ruling. He’s… assisting.”The silver-haired man