The vote wasn't dramatic.
No shouting.
No speeches that echoed through the streets.
Just a quiet gathering in Freefold's central square, where people stood in loose clusters, speaking in low voices as if afraid volume itself might bias the outcome.
Kael watched from the edge.
He didn't interfere.
Didn't stabilize.
Didn't listen outward.
This wasn't his decision to make.
Rae stood beside him, arms folded. "They're nervous."
"They should be," Kael replied. "This is the moment ideals stop being hypothetical."
Ashveil spoke softly.
"Voluntary systems resist formalization until failure forces articulation."
The proposal was simple.
Emergency authority.
Limited scope.
Time-bound.
Activated only by majority confirmation.
A way to decide who acts when hesitation kills.
Orien Halvek stood near the center—not presiding, not directing. He spoke only when asked, careful not to tip the scale.
That restraint was deliberate.
Mira noticed. "He's learned."
Kael nodded. "Yes. And so have they."
The vote passed.
Not unanimously.
But decisively.
When the result was announced, no one cheered. Relief spread instead—quiet, complicated.
People hadn't voted for power.
They'd voted for responsibility.
The newly appointed responders—three volunteers, visibly shaken—stepped forward.
A woman whispered, "What if we choose wrong?"
No one answered.
Because that was the cost.
Orien approached Kael afterward.
"You forced this," Orien said calmly.
Kael didn't deny it. "I revealed it."
Orien studied him. "You're very good at making people uncomfortable without touching them."
Kael met his gaze evenly. "And you're good at making comfort feel moral."
A pause.
Then Orien smiled faintly. "You know this won't end here."
Kael nodded. "I'm counting on it."
That night, Freefold felt different.
Still open.
Still welcoming.
But now, beneath the warmth, there was expectation.
People knew who to look at when things went wrong.
And those people knew it too.
Rae watched reports scroll in. "Other districts are watching. Closely."
Mira sighed. "Of course they are."
Ashveil spoke.
"Process propagation imminent."
Kael stood alone on a balcony, city lights stretching endlessly below.
Order hadn't conquered consent.
Consent hadn't replaced order.
They had begun to merge—uneasily, imperfectly.
This was more dangerous than either extreme.
Because hybrids invite comparison.
And comparison invites competition.
Kael closed his eyes.
"Next," he murmured, "someone's going to try to formalize me."
Ashveil answered.
"Attempts are inevitable."
Kael opened his eyes.
"Then we make sure they fail honestly."
Far across the city, Orien Halvek convened his own circle.
Not to oppose the vote.
But to outgrow it.
The second phase had begun.