The first anchor fell at dusk.
Not destroyed.
Disabled.
In the western territories, a group of anchor-breakers stood around a pulsing reality node buried beneath the earth. Their hands shook—not from fear, but excitement.
"No gods," one said.
"No kings," another echoed.
"No limits."
The anchor went dark.
The ground did not shake.
The sky did not crack.
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
They laughed.
---
Then causality slipped.
A river upstream changed course without reason. A mountain's shadow pointed the wrong way. A child tripped—and did not fall for several seconds.
Reality hesitated.
Trying to decide what it was allowed to do.
---
Inside the tower, alarms ignited sharply.
The assistant turned pale. "My King… anchor failure confirmed."
Elowen stood abruptly. "It's destabilizing already."
"Yes," the Demon King replied calmly. "But not collapsing."
"Yet," the assistant added.
---
In the western territories, people noticed.
Spells misfired. Time lagged. Objects remembered being somewhere else. Night arrived too early, then corrected itself.
Panic replaced laughter.
"What did you do?" someone shouted.
"We freed it!" a leader insisted. "This is just adjustment!"
The ground answered with silence.
Not absence.
Indifference.
---
Elowen pressed her palms together, light flickering weakly.
"They don't understand," she whispered. "Anchors don't control reality. They hold it together."
The Demon King watched the spreading distortion.
"They wanted weightlessness," he said. "Now they have it."
---
The observer focused sharply.
This pattern was familiar.
A world testing freedom without structure.
Outcomes trending toward collapse.
---
The Demon King raised his hand.
"Do not restore the anchor," he ordered.
The assistant froze. "My King?"
"Let them feel the weight," the Demon King continued. "Then we intervene."
Elowen looked at him, conflicted.
"If we wait too long—"
"They won't learn," he replied.
---
In the western territories, gravity surged unevenly.
Buildings tilted. People stumbled as force changed moment to moment. Not enough to kill.
Enough to terrify.
The anchor-breakers fell to their knees.
"Put it back!" someone screamed. "Please—!"
The ground did not answer.
---
The Demon King lowered his hand slightly.
"Now," he said.
The tower responded.
A temporary stabilizer unfolded—partial, imperfect.
Reality steadied—but scars remained.
The message was clear.
This was mercy.
Not immunity.
---
Elowen exhaled shakily.
"They'll remember this."
"Yes," the Demon King said.
He turned back to the tower.
"And next time," he added,
"they'll ask before pretending they can carry the world."