No one prayed anymore.
Not because they didn't believe in gods—
but because belief no longer answered.
Erynd walked through Lornhaven, a city built without shrines. No statues. No symbols. Only people and the choices they pretended were simple.
Black hair streaked faintly with silver now, scars dull beneath his skin. He felt heavier than before.
Not weaker.
Older.
Children argued in the streets. Merchants lied without guilt. Guards hesitated before acting.
Freedom had matured.
And like all grown things, it had learned how to hurt.
The first paradox appeared quietly.
A man stabbed another in the open market.
No curse followed.
No divine punishment.
The crowd froze—not in fear, but uncertainty.
The killer looked at his hands and laughed.
"Nothing happened," he said. "So I was right."
Erynd felt the Devourer stir.
Not hunger.
Interest.
That night, Erynd dreamed.
Not of chains.
Of mirrors.
In each reflection, he saw himself making a different choice—and each one ended with the world demanding he decide again.
When he woke, the scars burned.
Something new was forming.
Far away, an ideology rose.
Not a god.
Not a cult.
A belief sharper than either.
"Choice without consequence is freedom perfected."
They called themselves The Unbound.
They worshipped no being.
Only outcome.
Caelis found Erynd at dawn.
"You feel it too," Caelis said.
"Yes," Erynd replied. "Freedom is forgetting why limits existed."
The Watcher observed—but could not intervene.
This was not a system failure.
This was a human one.
The Unbound struck first.
Not with war.
With example.
They committed atrocities openly—and dared the world to stop them.
Every time justice failed, their belief spread.
Erynd stood at the edge again.
If he acted—
He became law.
If he didn't—
The world learned the wrong lesson.
The paradox tightened.
The scars flared.
For the first time since Oathfall—
Erynd felt fear.
Not of loss.
Of necessity.