The mountains released them reluctantly, as if the stone itself disapproved of unresolved choices.
Kael felt it with every step downward—the lingering pull of the Pandoran pass, the echoes of voices that had spoken not with anger, but certainty. Belief, he was learning, left deeper marks than violence. Blades could scar the body; belief reshaped the soul.
The road wound downward into gentler land, but no one relaxed.
Sir Edric rode ahead, jaw tight, knuckles white around his reins. Several knights clustered near him, murmuring in low voices. The swordsmen kept their distance. Old divisions, once dulled by urgency, were sharpening again.
"We should turn back," Edric said suddenly, reining in his horse. "This cannot wait."
Kael stopped. "Turn back to what?"
"To the king," Edric snapped. "The Pandoran elders are compromised. Magic is spreading without control. If this movement reaches the capital—"
"It already has," Kael said.
The words landed heavily.
Edric stared at him. "You don't know that."
Kael met his gaze. "I do."
Mask stepped between them before the argument could ignite. "Hearthmere lies ahead. If influence has teeth, it will be biting there."
Reluctantly, Edric nodded, but the damage was done. From that moment on, the group traveled as one body with separate hearts.
---
Hearthmere appeared at dusk.
Lanterns glowed warm along stone streets, the smell of baked bread and iron mingling in the air. Merchants called out in half a dozen tongues. Dwarven traders argued prices beside human farmers. An elf courier stood near the well, hood low, watching everything.
At first glance, it looked unchanged.
Then Kael saw the writing.
Not banners. Not symbols. Just words—carefully chosen and carefully placed.
Strength is earned, not inherited.
The world does not belong to crowns.
Belief is the only birthright.
"They're avoiding the mark," Lysa murmured. "No broken circle."
"They don't need it," Kael replied. "Here, the idea walks on its own."
Inside the inn, the air buzzed with quiet tension. Conversations paused when the group entered, then resumed with forced casualness. Kael caught fragments—complaints about taxes, resentment toward nobles, whispers of magic awakening in people who had never been allowed to touch it.
That night, Hearthmere fractured.
A speaker stood near the market square, voice calm and persuasive, drawing a crowd with talk of fairness and shared power. No threats. No commands. Just stories—carefully selected truths sharpened into weapons.
"See?" the man said. "No kings were harmed to build this world. Only belief."
Kael watched from the shadows, unease twisting in his chest. The speaker wasn't lying. That was the problem.
___
The confrontation came after midnight.
Mask stood near the stables when several knights approached, hands near hilts, eyes hard.
"You're hiding things," one said.
"I always have," Mask replied calmly.
"You're training the boy," Edric said, stepping forward. "Teaching him magic outside the law. That makes him a liability."
Kael arrived just as the words landed.
"If I'm a liability," Kael said evenly, "it's because the laws were built for a world that no longer exists."
Edric rounded on him. "You don't speak for the kingdom."
"No," Kael said. "But I speak for the people you refuse to listen to."
Silence fell heavy and brittle.
Mask raised a hand. "Enough. Division serves the shadow."
Edric's voice dropped. "Or maybe the shadow serves you."
The accusation hung there, poisonous and unresolved.
---
Later, Kael stood on the inn's rooftop, the town spread beneath him like a living map. Lights flickered where gatherings formed and dissolved. Ideas moving faster than messengers ever could.
Mask joined him quietly.
"You're standing at the center of a turning," Mask said.
Kael didn't look away. "So is the princess."
"Yes," Mask agreed. "And so is the kidnapper."
Kael exhaled slowly. "He's not forcing anyone."
"No," Mask said. "He's offering them permission."
Below, the speaker finished his address. The crowd dispersed—not as followers, but as carriers.
Far away, unseen, the shadow adjusted its reach.
And the world leaned closer to choosing what it would become.