Nothing is promised.
That is what remains.
⸻
Zane learns it on an ordinary morning, the kind the old world would have dismissed as insignificant.
The heir sits at the low table by the window, tongue caught between their teeth as they concentrate on tying a stubborn knot. The cord is too thick. Their fingers fumble. They huff in frustration.
Zane watches from the doorway, heart oddly tight.
In the old world, struggle meant meaning.
Now it means practice.
The knot loosens again.
The heir scowls, then laughs at themself, starting over.
No system responds.
No bond hums with warning or consequence.
The world allows the mistake to exist.
Zane exhales, realizing that this is the quiet miracle they never learned how to ask for.
⸻
Jason brings news later, folded into his voice like s
