Kael did not leave Virell all at once.
He drifted.
Some days he was there at dawn, helping unload grain by the river. Other days, people realized at dusk that he hadn't been seen at all. No announcements followed his absences. No one went looking.
That, more than anything, told him it was time.
He spent his last morning in the old forum. The stones were worn smooth now, not by ceremony but by use—by arguments held too long, by people sitting when they were tired of standing for their own certainty.
A woman he didn't recognize sat beside him.
"You're Kael," she said, not asking.
"Yes."
She nodded. "My mother argued with you here once. Said you were irresponsible."
Kael smiled faintly. "Was she right?"
The woman considered. "Sometimes." She paused. "She still quotes you."
They sat in companionable silence.
By midday, Kael crossed the bridge he had helped repair—the crooked one that held anyway. He didn't look back until he reached the far bank, and even then only once.
Virell was unchanged.
That was the point.
Far beyond the sky, Custodial records marked a final note under Kael's designation. No warnings. No projections.
Just a sentence, stripped of analysis:
SUBJECT NO LONGER CENTRAL.
SYSTEM REMAINS STABLE.
On the road, Kael walked with no destination important enough to hurry toward. The world felt larger without a role assigned to him—frightening and light at the same time.
He met people who didn't know his name. Helped where help was needed. Failed where he was clumsy. Learned again how to be corrected.
At night, under unfamiliar stars—some steady, some wandering—Kael slept without dreams of futures demanding his attention.
The story did not follow him after that.
It followed everyone else.
And that was how it finally became true.