They had not seen him.
Not Lysanthir. Not Luceris. Not the Sovereign's banners.
And yet, they knelt.
The towns along Avaron's eastern rim did not fall to flame. They did not cry surrender. They simply… changed.
Sermons slipped. Bells rang off-rhythm. Gods stuttered.
And in that silence, a new symbol rose — not shouted, not crowned. Whispered.
Kaela arrived at dusk. The town had no gate.Not one that closed, anyway.
Kaela stepped across the threshold of broken stones and faded paint as the sun dipped behind the hills, casting long shadows that stretched like arms too tired to reach. The guards on either side of the road did not raise their spears. They didn't speak.
They only watched.
Their armor bore no crest now — only old scratches where the sun-sigil of Avaron had once been polished to gleam. One had replaced his chestplate entirely with boiled leather. The other's helmet was off, lying in the dust beside his feet. He didn't seem to care.
Kaela did not pause.
