Morning came without urgency.
The plains woke slowly, light rolling across the grass like a careful hand.
No horns.
No riders.
Lira sat up and listened.
Nothing pressed against the bond.
No pull.
No probing.
Just… space.
"Kael," she said softly.
"I think it's working."
He felt it too.
Not victory, his intent replied. Release.
They packed and moved on, not because they had to—
but because movement was still part of who they were.
As they walked, they passed signs of others.
A dropped scarf tied to a stone.
A line scratched into dirt—simple, deliberate.
Jon noticed first.
"These marks… they're not warnings."
Lira nodded.
"They're confirmations."
Kael understood.
Someone was here. Someone chose.
The Seer slowed, studying the signs.
"This is what replaces orders," he said.
"Recognition."
By midday, they reached a shallow rise overlooking scattered farms.
Smoke rose from chimneys.
Children ran between fields.
Normal life.
But Lira felt the difference.
No tension.
No flinch when strangers appeared at the edge of sight.
"They're not afraid," Sera whispered.
Kael felt it too.
They don't expect permission anymore.
They didn't approach the farms.
They didn't need to.
Presence wasn't about being seen now.
It was about allowing space to remain open.
As they turned away, Lira felt a soft wave through the bond.
Gratitude.
Not directed.
Shared.
Far away, messengers returned to the heir with reports that made no sense.
Villages that didn't panic.
Scouts ignored.
Orders delayed by confusion.
No enemy.
No target.
Only absence where obedience used to be.
He dismissed the messengers one by one.
Then sat alone.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
On the plains, Kael walked beside Lira, matching her pace.
We didn't replace control, his intent said. We removed the need for it.
She nodded.
"Yes."
The road ahead remained wide and undecided.
And for the first time—
That felt like safety.
Because when stillness spreads.
Power has nothing left to hold.