The bridge took three days.
Not because it was difficult, but because everyone argued about how to do it together. Old masons insisted on stone. Younger workers wanted lighter timber. Someone suggested reinforcing both and was accused of cowardice for refusing to commit.
Kael listened. Carried planks. Held ropes. Said little.
In the end, the bridge was imperfect—stronger on one side, patched on the other, slightly crooked in the middle.
It held.
"That," Michael said, standing back to admire it, "is the most accurate metaphor for this entire era."
Kael wiped sweat from his brow. "Still better than a miracle."
News came in slowly now, no longer flooding the city.
Not because the world had grown quiet—but because people had stopped assuming Virell needed to hear everything. Local problems stayed local. Solutions spread sideways instead of upward.
Authority thinned.
Responsibility thickened.
One afternoon, Kael found a notice posted near the forum. Not a proclamation. A request.
> LOOKING FOR MEDIATORS
No final authority required
Listening skills preferred
Expect frustration
He smiled and took it down.
Later that evening, Aurelian joined him by the river.
"I used to think faith needed something eternal to anchor it," she said. "A star. A truth. A promise that outlived us."
"And now?" Kael asked.
She watched the current for a long moment. "Now I think faith might just be trusting that others will keep going when we stop."
Far away—so far that even the Custodians no longer modeled it precisely—other worlds continued as they always had. Some burned. Some froze. Some obeyed systems that never loosened their grip.
This one remained… inconvenient.
Unpredictable.
Alive.
The Custodians still watched. They always would. But watching had become an act without teeth. No escalation followed their observations. No corrections smoothed the rough edges.
They recorded.
And learned—slowly, begrudgingly—that not everything that endured could be optimized.
Years later, children would ask about the time of stars and systems and certainty.
And the answers would never agree.
Some would say it ended with a confrontation. Others with a refusal. Most would say it didn't really end at all.
Kael grew older.
So did Michael. So did Seris. So did Aurelian.
They argued less about the future and more about aches in their joints and whether the tea had gotten worse over the years.
The world did not become perfect.
But it became theirs.
And when Kael finally left the city for the last time—not in exile, not in glory—there were no bells.
Just a few people who noticed he was gone and carried on anyway.
Above, the stars burned on.
Below, the world continued—unfinished, unowned, and finally free enough to never need an ending.