The second power does not knock.
It waits.
It lingers at the edge of the valley where the Unplaced City once brushed the land and moved on, leaving the ground uncertain of its own loyalty. Wind curls strangely there, circling the same stone again and again as if expecting instruction.
People feel it before they see it.
Not fear.
Expectation.
Kael watches the horizon from the battlements, arms crossed. “That one’s smarter.”
“Yes,” I reply. “It’s been watching how the first one survived.”
The shadow coils, attentive and sharp.
Observers always arrive second.
This power does not take form immediately. It allows itself to be spoken about first.
“They used to call it the Hearth King,” an elder murmurs.
“No, the Keeper of Oaths,” another corrects.
“I thought it was a mountain spirit
