Kael did not run.
That surprised him.
As he left Haven's central square, cries rising behind him and the fractured pillar groaning under unseen strain, instinct told him to put distance between himself and what he had just disturbed. Running had kept him alive before. Running was familiar.
Instead, he walked.
Slow. Measured.
Because this time, running would look like guilt.
And guilt fed belief.
The paths of Haven were no longer calm. People stood clustered in small groups now, voices hushed but urgent. Some stared toward the square with fear etched openly on their faces. Others looked angry, eyes sharp, searching for someone to blame.
Kael felt it clearly.
The weight had not vanished.
It had changed.
Where belief had once flowed smoothly, reinforcing itself in quiet certainty, it now churned. Doubt crept through the collective like a crack through ice, branching unpredictably.
And doubt demanded resolution.
Kael kept his hood low and moved with the current of people drifting away from the square. He did not push. He did not rush. He listened.
"Did you feel that."
"The pillar has never cracked before."
"They say someone touched it."
"No. It protects us. It wouldn't allow that."
"He didn't bow."
That last whisper followed Kael like a blade against his spine.
He reached the edge of the settlement as a bell began to ring.
Not the sharp alarm of Blackspire.
This bell was low. Resonant. It vibrated through the ground, through bone, through thought.
The presence inside Kael recoiled hard.
This was not a warning bell.
It was a call.
Kael stopped.
People around him froze, heads lifting as if pulled by invisible strings. Conversations died mid word. Bodies turned, one by one, toward the sound.
Toward the pillar.
Kael felt the pressure spike, not outward but inward, as belief tightened its grip on those who shared it.
So this is how it works, he thought.
Not force.
Alignment.
A hand brushed Kael's arm.
He turned to find the woman from the food stall staring at him. Her warm smile was gone. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, but sharp with purpose.
"You should come back," she said softly. "The Guide will explain."
Kael looked at her hand on his sleeve.
Slowly, deliberately, he removed it.
"I don't think I will," he said.
Her brow furrowed. "You're confused. That happens sometimes."
"I'm not," Kael replied.
Around them, more people were turning. Not rushing. Walking calmly, purposefully, back toward the square.
The bell rang again.
Kael stepped back.
"This place isn't safe anymore," he said. "You should leave while you can."
Her expression flickered.
Just for a moment.
Then it hardened.
"Safety is not found outside," she said. "It is built together."
Kael felt something twist in his chest.
Not fear.
Anger.
"This safety depends on never being questioned," he said. "That's not safety. That's a cage."
The woman's lips trembled. "You're hurting it."
Kael met her gaze. "No. I'm revealing it."
Her hand moved suddenly, fingers closing around his wrist with surprising strength.
"Come back," she said, voice no longer gentle.
Kael reacted without thinking.
He twisted free and stepped back hard, the presence flaring in response. The pressure between them spiked, not violent but disruptive, like two currents colliding.
The woman cried out and stumbled, clutching her head.
People nearby gasped.
Some rushed to her side.
Others turned fully toward Kael.
And the calm was gone.
"Stop him."
"He's the fracture."
"Don't let him leave."
The words came from different mouths, but the intent was unified.
Kael backed away slowly, heart hammering.
He did not want to kill these people.
That realization hit him with unexpected force.
They were not bandits. Not hunters. Not corrupt officials.
They were believers.
Broken ones.
And belief, when threatened, did not retreat.
It attacked.
Kael turned and ran.
This time, he did not slow.
The pressure slammed into him almost immediately. Not as a physical blow, but as resistance. Every step felt heavier, as if the ground itself opposed him.
The bell rang again.
Kael gritted his teeth and pushed forward, bursting past the outer buildings and onto open land. The moment he crossed the settlement's boundary, the pressure eased slightly, but it did not vanish.
He could still feel it.
Reaching.
Calling.
Kael ran until his lungs burned and his vision blurred, until Haven was a distant smear behind him. He did not stop until he reached a low ravine choked with brush and fallen stone.
He collapsed behind a boulder, gasping.
The presence inside him was in turmoil.
Not feeding.
Not growing.
Straining.
Kael pressed his forehead to the cold rock and breathed through the ache in his chest.
"They followed belief," he whispered. "Not commands."
The realization settled heavily.
Fear could be broken.
Law could be dismantled.
Belief had to be undone slowly, or it shattered violently.
And violent shattering left survivors who wanted answers.
Kael pushed himself upright.
Movement caught his eye.
Figures crested the ridge above the ravine.
Not a mob.
A small group.
Disciplined. Focused.
At their center walked the watcher.
The pale eyes found Kael immediately.
"You should not have run," the watcher said, voice carrying easily.
Kael straightened. "I didn't want to stay."
"That was not your choice to make," the watcher replied.
The others fanned out, forming a loose arc. They carried no heavy weapons. No armor. Only staffs and short blades.
Believers.
But trained.
"You cracked the pillar," the watcher continued. "Doubt is spreading. People are afraid."
Kael laughed once, harsh and tired. "Good. They should be."
The watcher's expression tightened. "You think fear will free them."
"No," Kael said. "I think it will force them to think."
The watcher shook their head slowly. "You don't understand what you touched."
Kael gestured back toward Haven. "Then explain it."
The watcher stepped closer.
"Haven exists because the world beyond it is cruel," they said. "People come here broken. Starving. Lost. Belief gives them structure when nothing else will."
"And what happens when that structure lies," Kael asked.
The watcher's eyes darkened. "It doesn't."
Kael felt the presence stir sharply.
"That pillar," Kael said, "feeds on surrender. On people giving up their doubt. That's not healing. That's consumption."
The watcher stopped a few paces away.
"Careful," they said softly. "You accuse something older than you."
Kael met their gaze. "I've consumed older."
The air between them thickened.
The watcher raised a hand.
The pressure returned, stronger now, focused.
Not crushing.
Compelling.
Kael's knees buckled as a wave of certainty crashed into him. Images flooded his mind. People smiling. People safe. People grateful.
All he had to do was stop resisting.
Accept.
Be still.
Kael screamed.
Not in pain.
In defiance.
The presence exploded outward, raw and violent. The weight of stolen authority surged, colliding with belief head on.
The ground cracked beneath Kael's feet.
The watcher staggered back, eyes wide.
The others cried out as the pressure snapped, throwing them off balance.
Kael surged forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He grabbed the watcher by the front of their robe and slammed them against the stone.
"Your belief is not absolute," Kael growled. "It just hasn't been challenged enough."
The watcher coughed, blood at the corner of their mouth.
"You can't devour this," they gasped. "It isn't singular."
Kael leaned close. "I don't need to."
He released them and stepped back.
The watcher slid to the ground, stunned.
Kael turned and ran again, this time without looking back.
Behind him, the group did not give chase.
They were too busy helping their leader up.
Kael did not stop until night fell.
When he finally collapsed beside a dry creek bed, his body shaking with exhaustion, the presence inside him felt different.
Not heavier.
Sharper.
It had learned something.
Belief could not be consumed whole.
But it could be destabilized.
Broken apart piece by piece.
Kael stared up at the stars, chest rising and falling.
The world beyond cities was more dangerous than he had thought.
Not because of monsters.
But because of people who believed they were saving others.
Kael closed his eyes.
He would not become that kind of ruler.
No matter what it cost.