The city did not cheer. That was the first thing Terry noticed when the miracle withdrew. No applause. No cries of thanks. No collective exhale of relief.Just silence.It pressed against his ears harder than any roar ever had.The square slowly emptied, people dispersing in small, uncertain knots. They avoided his gaze. Some with resentment. Some with gratitude they didn’t know how to express. Some with fear, not of him, but of what came after him.Terry stood where he was, sword lowered, shoulders heavy.Mira broke the silence first.“That went… better than it could have,” she said quietly.Terry let out a short breath that almost turned into a laugh. “Did it?”Jalen shook his head. “No one tried to lynch you. That’s progress.”“That’s a low bar,” Terry replied.Corvin did not speak.That worried him more than anything.They moved off the square as night settled in fully, lanterns igniting along the streets like cautious stars. The city felt… awake. Not comforted. Not controlled. Aw

The hum did not fade. It settled.That was the difference Terry felt as dawn crept into Valoria, not relief, not resolution, but presence. Like a city realizing it had a spine and deciding to test it.From the watchhouse roof, Terry watched citizens move with purpose that didn’t feel borrowed. Storehouses opening under shared keys. Canal gates adjusted by teams instead of spells. Old horns sounding signals that hadn’t been used in decades.No miracles.No symbols.Just systems waking up.Mira joined him, cloak pulled tight against the chill.“They didn’t wait for us,” she said.Terry nodded. “Good.”She studied him from the corner of her eye. “You look worse.”“I feel better,” he replied.“That’s not comforting.”Jalen climbed up moments later, breathless. “Lower ward confirmed it, the silver-thread healers are pulling back.”Mira blinked. “Already?”“They didn’t disappear,” Jalen said. “They dissolved. Left supplies behind. No speeches.”Terry frowned. “He’s adjusting.”Corvin stirre

The first riot didn’t start with shouting. It started with bread.A shipment meant for the northern wards stalled at the canal junction just after dawn. No sabotage. No magic. Just a broken axle and too many hungry people watching it tip.Voices rose.Hands reached.Someone shoved.By the time Terry arrived, the crowd had already split into sides.Mira scanned the scene quickly. “This isn’t organized.”“No,” Terry said. “It’s worse.”Jalen frowned. “How?”“It’s honest.”A dock foreman stood atop the wagon, arms raised. “Back up! We’re fixing it!”A woman below shouted back, “You said that yesterday!”Another voice cut in, sharp and bitter. “The silver-thread healers wouldn’t let food rot in the street.”That did it.The words spread like oil on water.Mira swore. “He didn’t even show up.”“He doesn’t have to,” Terry replied. “Comparison does the work for him.”Corvin stirred, uneasy.Friction phase. Predictable. Necessary.Terry stepped forward, not onto the wagon, but into the space

The air smelled of wet stone and sweat.Not miracle, not blessing, just effort. The kind that leaves hands raw and hearts heavier than they were before.Terry’s palms burned from hauling buckets through the narrow alleys of the eastern ward. Every time he passed a resident, their eyes met his, not in reverence, not in expectation, just calculation. Who would survive this delay? Who would fall behind? Who would remember to thank anyone?He didn’t look up. He didn’t want to. Not yet. The city’s rhythm had taken on a tense, uneven tempo. Its people were learning what Terry had refused to teach: that survival required choice, not direction.Mira’s hands were raw too, her voice hoarse from shouting instructions, calming disputes, and arguing with Jalen over priorities.“They’re fracturing,” Jalen muttered as he passed a line of residents carrying water from one cistern to another. “Terry, you can’t be everywhere.”“I know,” Terry replied, voice rough, almost swallowed by the hum of labor.

Night fell unevenly over Valoria.Not the clean descent of dusk, but a staggered dimming, lanterns flaring early in flooded streets, smoke dulling the stars above the west quarter, voices still raised where exhaustion hadn’t yet won.Terry moved through it all without cloak or escort.“Keep pressure on that brace,” someone shouted.“It’s slipping, no, not like that!”“Where’s the healer?”“I’m here,” a woman answered, breathless. “Move.”Terry passed within arm’s length of them. No one stopped him. A few looked up, hesitant, searching, but he kept walking, hands visible, empty.The sword remained bound.The hunger stayed quiet, coiled deep, watching through his eyes.Corvin did not speak.That silence was worse than any taunt.Mira caught up to him near the collapsed tannery wall, boots splashing through ankle-deep water. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”“I know,” Terry said. “But I need to see it.”“See what?”“What happens after.”They climbed a broken stair to higher ground. Bel