Adams stood at the highest point of the sect as the first light of dawn crept over the mountains. The Forbidden Forest lay quiet in the distance, still carrying the faint echo of last night's encounter. He breathed in the cool air, hands loose at his sides, and let the weight of everything settle for a moment. The impersonator's words lingered — hunger, gaps, forgotten things. It wasn't the first time something had tried to nibble at the edges of his world, but this one felt different. Personal.
He turned away from the view and started down the path. No dramatic entrance today. Just a man walking among his people.
Anderson was waiting near the central plaza, crimson hair still tousled from what must have been a long night. He fell into step beside Adams without ceremony.
"Adams," he said, voice low. "The pantheon's assembled like you asked. Jack's itching to move. Says the borders felt wrong again this morning."
"Good," Adams replied. "Let's talk."
