Agreements usually begin with ink.
This one begins with listening.
The circle forms without announcement.
No bell.
No call.
No permission requested.
People arrive because someone told someone else there would be space to speak—and that turns out to be enough. They bring stools, crates, folded blankets. They sit close, not crowded, leaving room for latecomers without ceremony.
No one presides.
That matters.
Kael sits among them, not at the center. When someone gestures for him to speak first, he shakes his head.
“Not yet,” he says.
The shadow coils, attentive.
This agreement will only hold if it is not owned.
Silence stretches.
Uncomfortable.
Necessary.
Finally, a woman clears her throat.
“We need a way to decide things,” she says. “Not orders. Not chaos.”
Heads nod.
A ma
