The mist thinned as they moved forward.
Not disappeared—thinned.
Tall structures rose ahead, their shapes sharp and unfamiliar. Stone fused with metal. Light pulsed through narrow lines carved into walls like veins. The city stood quiet, but not asleep.
Salemadon slowed.
"This place is alive," he said.
Brughan nodded. "And it doesn't trust us."
They stepped onto solid ground.
The path ended behind them.
THE CITY OF STILL EYES
The streets were wide and clean, too clean. No debris. No signs of recent conflict. But Salemadon felt it—the pressure, subtle and constant.
Eyes were on them.
Not visible.
Yet present.
Althara touched the wall beside her. Symbols glowed faintly under her fingers, then dimmed.
"This city records movement," she said. "Thought. Intent."
Brughan frowned. "That's comforting."
Salemadon tightened his grip on Pahtem.
"Then we move carefully."
They walked deeper.
Lights flickered on as they passed, one by one, like the city waking up.
A low hum filled the air.
THE FIRST WARNING
They reached a circular plaza.
The moment Salemadon stepped into it, the ground pulsed.
A voice echoed—not loud, not aggressive.
"Unregistered Threadbearer detected."
Brughan cursed. "Here we go."
Figures emerged from the walls themselves—tall constructs made of stone and light. Their movements were smooth, precise. Not hunters.
Enforcers.
"Declare intent," the voice demanded.
Salemadon stepped forward calmly.
"We seek passage," he said. "Nothing more."
The constructs did not move.
"Balance-bearers alter probability," the voice replied.
"Alteration requires evaluation."
Pahtem pulsed once.
Salemadon felt the familiar ache bloom in his arm.
Not a fight, he reminded himself. Not yet.
THE OBSERVER
A new presence entered the plaza.
Not through force.
Through attention.
A figure stood atop a high platform overlooking them—wrapped in layered robes of pale gray and deep blue. Her posture was calm. Still.
She watched Salemadon carefully.
Not with fear.
With recognition.
The constructs paused.
The voice softened.
"Observer Mahira acknowledged."
Brughan blinked. "Observer?"
The woman raised one hand slightly.
"That will be all," she said.
The constructs withdrew instantly, melting back into the walls.
Silence returned.
Mahira descended slowly, each step measured.
Up close, her face was composed, her eyes sharp and thoughtful.
"You carry Pahtem," she said. "And you didn't draw it."
Salemadon met her gaze. "I didn't need to."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Good."
WORDS INSTEAD OF BLADES
Mahira circled them once, her attention lingering on Salemadon.
"You chose balance," she said. "That makes you dangerous—and rare."
Brughan crossed his arms. "Is this where we get arrested or recruited?"
Mahira looked at him briefly. "Neither."
She turned back to Salemadon.
"This city studies consequences," she continued. "We don't worship power. We track what it breaks."
Althara stiffened. "Then you already know why we're here."
"Yes," Mahira said. "And why you won't stay long."
Salemadon frowned. "Why?"
"Because the world beyond this city is shifting," Mahira replied. "And you are part of that shift."
She stepped closer.
"Whether you want to be or not."
THE UNSEEN THREAT
The ground trembled faintly.
Mahira's eyes sharpened.
"It's too soon," she murmured.
"What is?" Salemadon asked.
Her gaze lifted toward the city's outer edge.
"Something is following you," she said. "Not hunters. Not enforcers."
Brughan muttered, "That's encouraging."
Mahira faced Salemadon fully.
"You have two choices," she said. "Leave now—or stay and become visible."
Salemadon felt the weight of Pahtem.
Visibility meant consequence.
But hiding only delayed it.
He exhaled slowly.
"We stay," he said.
Mahira nodded once.
"Then listen carefully."
She leaned in, her voice low.
"Balance will not save you here."
The city lights dimmed.
Far beyond the walls, something moved.
And for the first time since the Trials ended—
Salemadon felt fear.
Some places don't welcome strangers. They study them.