The bell rang again the next morning.
Not from a tower this time, but from the old forum—one of the few places in Virell not claimed by any temple, guild, or crown. A bell rung by citizens meant only one thing.
They wanted answers.
Kael went without escort.
Michael noticed and followed anyway, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. "You're aware," he said as they walked, "that this is the point where crowds decide whether someone is a leader or a symbol."
Kael nodded. "I'm tired of being either."
The forum was already full. No raised platform. No banners. Just people standing in loose circles, arguments overlapping, emotions unhidden. When Kael entered, the noise softened—not into silence, but into attention.
A woman stepped forward. A dockworker by her hands, a thinker by her eyes.
"You broke something," she said plainly.
Kael met her gaze. "Yes."
A murmur rippled. No denial. No justification.
"My brother followed Saint Varric," she continued. "Not because of miracles. Because he promised certainty. Now he doesn't answer letters."
Michael felt the system twitch then—an instinctive pull toward narrative control. Kael felt it too.
"I can't make his choices for him," Kael said. "And I won't pretend otherwise."
The woman's jaw tightened. "Then what can you do?"
Kael took a breath. Not to gather power—but to steady himself.
"I can make sure no one is forced to choose in the dark," he said. "I can make sure those who claim certainty are questioned. And I can leave room for you to be wrong without being punished for it."
Silence followed—not stunned, but thoughtful.
An older man spoke next. "If you leave, others like Varric will rise."
"Yes," Kael said. "They will."
"Then why not stay and rule? Properly?"
Michael watched closely now.
"Because ruling forever is how this begins again," Kael replied.
The warmth inside him pulsed—not with strength, but with alignment. He felt the bonds he carried respond—not tightening, but loosening in trust.
"You don't want a savior," Kael continued. "You want guarantees. I can't give you those. But I can give you a choice that doesn't come with a blade at your back."
The dockworker woman studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded once.
"That'll do," she said.
Not approval. Acceptance.
As the crowd slowly dispersed, arguments resuming but tempered now by context, Michael let out a long breath.
"Well," he said, "you just did something catastrophic."
Kael smiled faintly. "Let me guess. For the system."
"For the system," Michael agreed. "You declined escalation publicly. That removes about half its leverage."
They walked back in companionable silence.
That night, Aurelian approached Kael with eyes heavy with old knowledge. "The Veiled Star is dimmer," she said. "Not wounded. Confused."
Kael looked up at the night sky. The stars seemed… farther away.
"It doesn't understand choice without hierarchy," he said.
Aurelian nodded. "Nor faith without fear."
Somewhere beyond sight, Saint Varric's army stalled—not from rebellion, but from indecision. On the coast, followers began to leave quietly, taking questions with them.
And in Virell, something unprecedented took root:
People began making choices without waiting to see who would punish them.
Kael stood at the window, feeling the warmth inside him settle into something quieter, heavier, more human.
Power had always asked him to take.
Now, for the first time, it was learning how to let go.