Kael expected Lysa to disappear from his life.
People like her usually did—those who saw too much and wanted no part in the consequences. They warned, they withdrew, and they told themselves they had done enough.
So when she appeared again three days later, seated across from him in a small planning room with no audience and no council authority attached, Kael revised his expectations.
"I didn't come to stop you," Lysa said, tapping a finger against the table. "I came to understand you."
Kael closed the data slate he had been reviewing. "That's more dangerous."
"Only if you're hiding something."
He studied her openly now. Lysa wasn't a politician in the traditional sense. She had never held long-term office. She moved between roles—crisis coordinator, regional negotiator, economic mediator. Wherever systems strained, she appeared, did her work, and left before power settled.
A strategist without territory.
"Why stay?" Kael asked. "You could have walked away."
"I did that once," Lysa replied. "Centuries ago, someone else walked away too. Look how that turned out."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "You're not blaming the first Kael for this world."
"No," she said. "I'm blaming everyone who expected his absence to keep them honest."
Silence settled—not hostile, but heavy.
Lysa leaned forward. "You're building influence without structure. That's impressive. But influence always demands a shape eventually. If you don't give it one, someone else will."
"And you're offering to be that shape?" Kael asked.
"I'm offering to keep you from making amateur mistakes."
That made him smile. "Such as?"
"Believing efficiency is enough," she said immediately. "People don't follow what works. They follow what makes them feel safe from blame."
Kael absorbed that.
"Then help me," he said.
Lysa hesitated—for the first time since she'd sat down.
"If I do," she said slowly, "I'm not your subordinate."
"I wouldn't accept one."
"I won't defend you if this goes wrong."
"I wouldn't ask you to."
"And if you become what the world fears again?"
Kael met her gaze, unflinching. "Then I'll need someone willing to say it to my face."
That answer settled it.
Lysa stood. "Very well. I'll stay."
She paused at the door. "But understand this, Kael: I'm not here because I believe in what you're doing."
"Why then?" he asked.
"Because if someone is going to carry the weight of responsibility this world keeps dropping," she said, "I want to be close enough to see how heavy it really is."
She left without ceremony.
Kael reopened his slate. The system fragment pulsed softly—updated, adjusted, learning from new inputs.
A strategist had entered his orbit.
Not a follower.
Not a lover.
But something far more dangerous:
A witness who had chosen not to look away.
And Kael, for the first time, felt the future tighten its grip—less abstract now, more personal, and far more difficult to control.