The city gates were already open when Azrael left the spire.
That alone was unusual.
No procession.
No banners.
No kneeling crowds.
Just a man in a dark coat, walking through his own capital like he belonged to it… instead of owning it.
People noticed.
They always did.
Conversations softened as he passed. Some stopped entirely. Eyes followed him from windows, from doorways, from behind carts and pillars. Fear lingered, but something else crept in with it now—confusion.
He wasn't supposed to be here like this.
"You're making them uncomfortable," I said.
"Yes," Azrael replied. "So am I."
The streets smelled of rain and bread and metal. A blacksmith hammered steel nearby, sparks flashing briefly before dying. Somewhere, someone argued over fruit prices. Somewhere else, someone laughed too loudly.
Life didn't stop for villains.
That realization sat strangely with him.
Aiden—no, Azrael—paused near a small stone bridge that crossed a narrow canal. The water moved slowly beneath it, carrying leaves, bits of ash, reflections of the sky.
He leaned against the railing.
"This is where it happened," he said.
"What happened?"
He looked down at the water. "Years ago. Before the empire grew this large."
His voice was distant. Older than his face.
"A protest," he continued. "They feared my rule. Thought I would destroy them."
"They weren't wrong," I said carefully.
"No," he agreed. "I did."
His fingers tightened slightly on the stone.
"They stood here," he said. "Unarmed. Shouting. Demanding answers I didn't think I owed."
He exhaled once.
"I gave an order."
The canal rippled.
I didn't ask what the order was. I didn't need to.
"And today?" I asked.
"Today," he said, "I wanted to see if the bridge still stood."
It did.
So did he.
Footsteps approached.
Not hurried. Not cautious.
Confident.
Azrael straightened slowly.
A woman stopped a few steps away.
She wore travel-worn armor, light but practical, the kind meant for movement rather than display. A sword hung at her side—not ceremonial, not oversized. Used.
Her hair was pulled back loosely, strands escaping around her face. Her eyes were sharp, steady… and completely unafraid.
She studied him openly.
Not with hatred.
Not with awe.
Recognition flickered across her face.
"…So it's true," she said.
Azrael turned fully toward her.
"And you are?"
She inclined her head slightly—not a bow.
"Evelyn Arclight."
The name rang like a struck bell.
[Fate Spike Detected]
[Probability Shift: Significant]
Ah.
So this was her.
"The wandering knight," Azrael said calmly. "Hero candidate. Protector of border towns."
She smiled faintly. "So you do know who I am."
"I make it a point to," he replied, "when someone survives as many battles as you have."
She stepped closer.
People nearby slowed. Listened.
Danger pooled quietly in the space between them.
"You canceled the northern invasion," Evelyn said. "Why?"
No accusation.
No demand.
Just curiosity.
Azrael didn't answer immediately.
I felt it then—the pull. The pressure. Fate tightening its fingers.
Say the wrong thing, and the path would snap back into place.
"I decided it wasn't necessary," he said.
"That's not like you."
"So I've been told."
Her gaze sharpened. "Kings don't change without reason."
"Neither do heroes," he countered.
She tilted her head. Studied him again.
"You're different," she said finally.
A murmur spread around them.
Azrael's voice stayed calm. "And that troubles you?"
"Yes," she said honestly. "Because monsters are easier to fight when they stay monsters."
Silence fell.
That line could have cut deeper.
Azrael didn't bristle. Didn't flare with power.
Instead, he asked, "And what do you do when the monster doesn't act like one?"
Evelyn met his eyes.
"I watch," she said. "Closely."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then she stepped back.
"I'll be in the city for a while," she added. "If you truly intend to rule differently… our paths will cross again."
She turned and walked away.
No threat.
No promise.
Just a fact.
As the crowd slowly breathed again, Azrael exhaled.
"…She's dangerous," I said.
"Yes," he replied. "Because she isn't blinded by fear."
He looked at the canal once more.
"At least now," he added, "someone is watching who wants the truth."
High above, unseen, something stirred.
Fate had placed its first piece on the board.
And this time…
It wasn't sure who it belonged to.