Michael arrived at dawn, and that alone made him suspicious.
No herald announced him. No appointment preceded him. He simply appeared at the eastern gate of Virell, dressed in travel-worn clothes that did not match any region Kael knew—dark trousers, a fitted coat with strange stitching, boots made for long roads rather than courts. He carried no visible weapon.
And yet, the guards let him through.
Not because they were bribed. Not because they were threatened.
They simply… forgot to stop him.
By the time Seris was informed, Michael was already standing in the lower hall of the spire, hands in his pockets, studying a mural of the city's founding with mild interest.
"He says his name is Michael," the captain reported, confused and irritated with himself. "No title. No house. He asked to speak with Kael."
Aurelian had gone very still.
"That name," she said quietly. "That kind of arrival… I was afraid of this."
Kael entered the hall without ceremony. The moment his eyes met Michael's, the warmth inside him recoiled—just slightly. Not fear. Recognition without context. Like a word on the tip of the tongue.
Michael smiled. It was easy, human, almost friendly.
"Hey," he said. "You're earlier in the cycle than I expected."
Seris's hand went to the dagger at her hip. "You will address the king properly."
Michael glanced at her, then back to Kael. "Ah. You went with king this time. Last time it was emperor. Once, warlord. That one ended badly."
The room chilled.
Kael felt the power within him tighten, not rising, not flowing—bracing.
"You've mistaken me for someone else," Kael said evenly.
Michael shook his head. "No. I've mistaken this world for being finished with you."
Aurelian stepped forward. "What are you?"
Michael considered. "That's complicated. But for now? I'm a variable."
Kael gestured toward the table. "Then sit. Variables get explained."
To everyone's surprise, Michael obeyed.
He leaned back in the chair like a man in a tavern, not a hall of power. "You're doing something different," he said. "That's why I'm here."
"Different from what?" Seris demanded.
Michael's gaze flicked to her, assessing. "From burning out. From becoming the thing that power expects you to be."
Kael's voice was quiet. "You know about the gift."
"I know about the system," Michael corrected. "You're not the first node. Just the first in a while who's resisting optimization."
That word echoed strangely in the chamber.
Aurelian's voice was tight. "The power is not a system. It is a legacy. A god's hunger."
Michael winced. "Yeah. That's the myth-layer version."
He looked back to Kael, expression sharpening. "Listen. The thing inside you? It was designed. Iterated. Reset. Over and over. Conquer. Bond. Grow. Collapse. Repeat. You're supposed to accelerate toward excess."
Kael felt the truth of it resonate—not as memory, but as pattern.
"And Michael?" Kael asked. "What are you supposed to do?"
Michael met his gaze fully now. For the first time, the casual tone slipped.
"I'm supposed to make sure this cycle ends," he said. "Preferably without the world burning this time."
Silence pressed in.
Seris broke it. "And how many times has it burned?"
Michael exhaled. "Enough that I stopped counting."
The warmth within Kael stirred—not eagerly, not submissively—but curiously. It did not recognize Michael as prey, rival, or bond.
That, more than anything else, unsettled him.
"You're not here to conquer," Kael said.
"Nope."
"You're not here to rule."
"Hard pass."
Kael leaned forward. "Then why are you here now?"
Michael smiled again, but there was no humor in it. "Because you just told House Caldrin 'no'… and the system noticed."
Outside, bells rang—clear, bright, and wrong for the hour.
Aurelian whispered, "The Veiled Star is watching."
Michael stood. "And that," he said, "is where things get interesting."
Kael rose with him, power steady but alert.
For the first time since his awakening, the path ahead was no longer defined by conquest or restraint—but by the presence of someone who knew how this story usually ended.
And had come anyway.