The demonstration did not wait for permission.
It unfolded on the southern road just after midday, when trade was thick enough to guarantee witnesses and thin enough to limit immediate response. Smoke rose first. Not heavy. Not frantic. Controlled. The kind meant to be seen from a distance and interpreted slowly.
Lyra felt it before the scouts spoke.
She was in the command room, listening to reports from the envoys she’d sent the night before, when the air shifted. The room seemed to lean south, attention pulled like iron toward a magnet.
“They’ve lit something,” Tyler said quietly.
“Yes,” Lyra replied. “And they chose their audience.”
Scouts burst in moments later, voices tight. “Southern route. Half a day out. A caravan was stopped. No deaths yet.”
Yet hung between them.
Lyra clo
