The morning air felt different.
Arjun Vale stood on the terrace before sunrise, barefoot on the cold concrete, eyes closed. The city below was quiet, caught in the fragile moment between night and day. He breathed slowly, carefully, as if the rhythm itself mattered.
Something inside him responded.
Not power. Not yet.
Awareness.
It was like standing near a sleeping giant—present, immense, but restrained. He could feel it beneath his skin, waiting for permission he wasn't sure he could afford to give.
"Control begins with restraint," the voice within him said.
Arjun opened his eyes. "Then teach me restraint."
The voice did not answer immediately.
"First," it said at last, "you must learn to listen."
Arjun extended one hand, palm open. He focused—not on strength, not on anger, not on fear—but on balance. For a brief moment, warmth gathered at his fingertips. Gentle. Manageable.
Then it vanished.
Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"That's it?" Arjun asked.
"For now," the voice replied. "You are standing too close to a world that can still break."
He lowered his hand, exhaling slowly. Somewhere deep inside, a broken throne pulsed faintly, as if acknowledging his effort.
Later that day, Iris Nolan called.
Her voice was calm, but there was concern beneath it. "You disappeared after discharge. I just wanted to check if you were okay."
"I'm fine," Arjun said. "Just… trying to reset."
They met at a small park not far from the hospital. Children laughed nearby, couples walked past, and life moved forward without hesitation.
"You don't look fine," Iris said after studying him for a moment. "You look like someone carrying too much."
Arjun hesitated. Then, for the first time, he spoke honestly. "I'm afraid of hurting people."
Iris didn't laugh. She didn't question him.
She simply nodded.
"Then learn," she said. "But don't run away from everyone while you do."
Her hand brushed against his arm—brief, grounding, real.
Something inside Arjun settled.
That night, the watchers moved closer.
Across the city, hidden behind reflective glass and sealed doors, eyes followed every recorded moment of his day. His movements. His expressions. His interactions.
"He's stabilizing," one observer said.
"Emotionally anchored," another noted.
A third voice spoke softly. "Then the pressure will increase."
Back on the terrace, Arjun stared at the stars.
"I know you're watching," he said quietly.
The city didn't respond.
But somewhere far beyond the skyline, something ancient stirred.
And for the first time, the world itself seemed uncertain whether it should fear the man who had begun to remember—or the Sovereign he might become.