Neutrality dies quietly.
It doesn’t collapse in flames or announce itself with banners. It simply stops making sense. One morning, people wake and realize that standing still now means standing for something, whether they intended to or not.
By the time the sun clears the rooftops, the city understands this instinctively.
It starts with doors.
Not slamming shut.
Not flung open.
Left half ajar.
People linger in thresholds longer than usual, scanning streets before stepping out. They notice which patrol passes first. Which faces nod. Which eyes linger.
Choosing nothing is no longer invisible.
Kael sees it from above.
The high walk gives him a wide view of the city’s pulse, and today the pulse is uneven. Candle patrols and watcher routes overlap more often now, not colliding, not me
