Surveillance did not arrive as eyes in the sky.
It arrived as attention.
David felt it the moment the envoy rejoined the loyalist Hosts and their formation subtly reconfigured. The air itself grew more deliberate. Probability thinned. Causality tightened its grip, as if unseen hands were gently straightening threads that had begun to fray.
He did not look up.
He didn't need to.
"They're watching through structure now," Danielle said quietly, confirming what he already knew. Her gaze traced invisible vectors across the sky, angelic perception mapping flows of authority and observation. "Not sight. Not sound. They're reading outcomes."
Carlisle snorted. "That's creepy."
Rose folded her arms, expression thoughtful. "It's efficient. They won't interfere unless the future stops looking favorable."
David adjusted Luna slightly as she stirred in her sleep. "Then we'll keep making it inconvenient."
The dissenting Hosts remained close, but not clustered. They had spread into a loose perimeter, adapting to their new role without being told. No formation. No ranks. Just presence.
Choice.
The blue-edged Host drifted nearer, its voice low and measured.
"Surveillance vectors are active across multiple probability strata. Direct interference remains constrained by the Arbiter's ruling."
Danielle nodded. "They'll look for indirect leverage. Symbols. Belief systems. Mortal intermediaries."
Rose's lips curved faintly. "Ah. The old favorite."
Carlisle frowned. "What?"
"Stories," Rose replied. "They'll start shaping the narrative."
As if summoned by the word, a subtle tremor passed through the world—not violent, not magical, but social. David felt it through the System interface he rarely needed to consciously access anymore: fluctuations in belief-weight, perception indices shifting across distant population centers.
Somewhere, priests would dream uneasy dreams.
Somewhere else, prophets would awaken convinced they had been chosen.
The Grand God would not strike David directly.
It would speak around him.
Danielle felt it too and stiffened. "They're seeding interpretation. Already."
David closed his eyes briefly, grounding himself. "Let them."
She stared at him. "David, belief shapes reality at scale. If they define Luna before she can—"
"Then we counter by living," he said calmly. "Not by arguing."
Rose studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "You really are a problem for them."
Carlisle grinned. "Told you."
The plateau was growing quiet now. Too quiet. Even the wind had softened, as if hesitant to intrude. Moonlight bathed the stone in silver-blue hues, the world beneath it breathing evenly.
Luna stirred again.
David felt it before she spoke—the shift, subtle but profound. Her aura did not expand this time. It focused. The ambient calm around them deepened, condensing into something intimate and precise.
She opened her eyes.
They reflected the moon—not as a mirror, but as recognition.
"Papa," she whispered.
Danielle's breath caught. "She's awake."
David smiled softly. "Hey, little moon."
Luna blinked slowly, then looked past him—not at the angels, not at the sky, but at the space between things. Her small brow furrowed, as if puzzling over something just beyond her grasp.
"It's… loud again," she said, more clearly than before.
David tensed—not outwardly, but internally. "Do you want it quieter?"
She nodded.
The dissenting Hosts stiffened, sensing the shift. The loyalist Hosts above adjusted surveillance parameters, attention sharpening.
Luna took a small breath.
And then she spoke a word.
It was not loud.
It was not powerful.
It was not even a word that should have existed yet.
"Hush."
The sound rippled outward—not as force, not as command, but as permission. The world responded instantly.
The surveillance vectors faltered.
Not shut down.
Blurred.
Probability readings lost resolution. Outcome projections softened, branching where they had been narrowing. The rigid lattice of divine observation loosened, its grip slipping just enough to matter.
Danielle gasped. "She… she just interfered with predictive authority."
Rose's eyes widened, genuine shock breaking through her composure. "That word—it wasn't divine. It wasn't mortal either."
Carlisle felt it too, scales tingling. "What was it?"
The blue-edged Host answered, its voice reverent.
"It was a boundary."
High above, the loyalist Hosts reacted sharply. Their formation tightened, halos flaring as surveillance recalibration protocols engaged. The lead host's voice thundered, stripped now of pretense.
"Unauthorized interference detected."
Luna frowned slightly, clutching David's cloak. "They're shouting."
David's jaw set. "I know."
He didn't raise his voice when he spoke back. He didn't need to.
"She asked for quiet," he said evenly. "You don't get to deny that."
The pressure surged—focused, probing—but it slid off the softened probability field Luna had created, failing to lock onto her presence with previous clarity.
The Grand God was still watching.
But now, it was watching through fog.
Danielle's hands trembled. "David… she just created a blind spot."
Rose laughed softly, breathless. "A god who can't be watched. That's new."
The dissenting Hosts moved instinctively, their light aligning with Luna's influence, reinforcing the boundary without amplifying it. Not shielding her—respecting her.
The lead host recoiled slightly, its authority straining.
"This cannot continue."
David met its gaze. "It already is."
Luna yawned, the effort of speaking clearly already fading. The boundary held—not because she maintained it, but because the world had accepted it as reasonable.
She nestled closer to David, eyelids drooping. "Papa?"
"Yes?"
"Did I do bad?"
His answer was immediate, firm, and absolute. "No. You did exactly right."
She smiled faintly and fell asleep again.
The moonlight steadied.
Above, the loyalist Hosts withdrew another fraction, surveillance patterns loosening—not by choice, but by necessity.
Danielle wiped her eyes, voice shaking. "She's not just growing faster than expected. She's… inventing."
Rose nodded slowly. "And heaven hates inventors."
David looked up at the sky one last time, his expression calm but resolute.
"Get used to it," he said quietly. "She's just getting started."
Somewhere beyond sight, divine strategies collapsed and reformed.
And for the first time in eternity, heaven had to plan around a word it did not own.