By midday, Kael learned that victory carried a sound.
It was not cheers—those came later, rehearsed and careful—but the low murmur of a city recalibrating itself. Decisions whispered through taverns. Prices adjusted by instinct. Guards stood straighter, uncertain whether to posture or relax. Virell was testing him, the way a blade tested a whetstone.
Kael welcomed it.
He walked the streets without escort, cloak unfastened, boots scuffed with dust rather than marble polish. People noticed. They always did. A conqueror who hid behind armor invited fear. One who walked bare invited judgment.
"Is it him?" someone murmured near a bread stall.
"He doesn't look like much," another replied.
Kael smiled faintly and bought a loaf anyway, pressing a coin into the baker's hand. The man stared at it, then at Kael, as if unsure whether the exchange was a trick.
Power shifted inside him—subtle, responsive. Not swelling. Observing.
At the edge of the market, a disturbance rippled. Raised voices. A ring of bodies tightening. Kael approached just as a city guardsman shoved a young woman backward, his hand clamped around her wrist.
"She stole," the guard said when he saw Kael. Relief flickered across his face, quickly masked. "Bread."
The woman's chin was lifted in defiance, but her eyes were hungry. Truly hungry. Kael had learned to recognize the difference.
"How much?" Kael asked.
The guard blinked. "My lord?"
"How much is the bread worth?"
"Two coppers."
Kael placed three in the guard's palm. "Then it's paid."
"She broke the law," the guard insisted, uncertain now.
"So amend it," Kael said calmly. "Hunger is not a crime. Neglect is."
A few people nodded. The circle loosened. The woman pulled free, staring at Kael as if he might vanish if she blinked.
"Go," he said gently.
She did.
The warmth stirred again, faint but present. Kael frowned. Compassion alone had never fed his power before. Intent, then. Choice. He was learning the rules even as he rewrote them.
By the time he returned to the spire, Seris was waiting with a visitor.
"She claims to represent the Temple of the Veiled Star," Seris said, expression neutral.
The woman bowed. Her robes were pale, almost luminous, stitched with symbols that caught the light and refused to let it go. Her eyes were old—older than the city, older than the empire's newest banners.
"I am Aurelian," she said. "I have come to witness you."
Kael arched a brow. "Witnessing usually comes after judgment."
Aurelian smiled. "For some men, yes. For others, it comes before."
They sat. Wine was poured and left untouched.
"You know what I am," Kael said.
"I know what you carry," Aurelian corrected. "And what it once belonged to."
Seris's gaze sharpened. "Once?"
"The power that answers him is ancient," Aurelian said. "It has worn many names. Fed on many shapes of devotion."
Kael leaned forward. "You're saying it isn't mine."
"Nothing like that ever is," Aurelian replied. "The question is whether you will be its vessel—or its end."
The room felt suddenly smaller. Kael felt the warmth withdraw slightly, as if listening from a distance.
"I didn't ask for it," Kael said.
"No," Aurelian agreed. "But you were chosen because you question."
She stood. "I will remain in Virell for a time. Observe. Counsel, if you allow it."
Kael considered, then nodded. "Stay."
When she left, Seris exhaled. "That woman is dangerous."
"Yes," Kael said. "Which means she's honest."
That night, Kael stood alone in the spire's highest chamber. He closed his eyes and reached inward—not grasping, not commanding.
The power answered.
Not with hunger, but with memory.
For the first time, he felt it clearly: echoes of past wielders, conquerors who had burned bright and vanished, consumed by the very strength they chased. He felt their triumphs, their excesses, their hollow ends.
Kael opened his eyes, breath steady.
"No," he said softly. "Not like that."
The warmth settled—not pleased, not angry, but changed.
Outside, Virell slept under new banners. Somewhere beyond the horizon, other thrones waited. Other wills would rise to meet him, some in alliance, some in defiance.
Kael rested a hand against the stone wall, grounding himself in the present.
Conquest, he understood now, was not the taking of land or even hearts.
It was the burden of choosing what kind of power the world would remember.