The first response came from beyond the borders.
It did not arrive with banners or messengers.
It came as silence.
Trade caravans paused an extra day at the northern passes. Sea captains altered routes without knowing why. In the western territories, old wards—long ignored—registered a fluctuation and quietly reset themselves.
No alarms.
No warnings.
Just attention.
In a tower overlooking a foreign capital, a woman in ash-grey robes stopped mid-incantation.
“That’s not ours,” she murmured.
The magic before her steadied, then tilted—subtly, unmistakably—toward the east.
She frowned and dismissed the spell.
“Send word to the archive,” she said to the shadow at her side. “Someone has crossed a threshold.”
⸻
In the desert kingdoms, the sand-seers felt it through the bones of the l
