Ryn left the Arctis compound alone under the pretense that he was going to "sightsee."

The banners snapped overhead as the gates closed behind him, their sound swallowed quickly by the city as he descended back toward the lower districts.

The "Light" thinned with each step, stone giving way to tighter streets and deeper shadows.

Thoughts lingered from the conversation, things that made no sense.

Why would the other races care now?

In his first life, they hadn't.

They'd watched the Hero's Ceremony the way one might observe a distant storm—aware of it, but unaffected. Human politics stayed human. Heroes rose and fell, and the world adjusted quietly around them.

Even now, nothing suggested that had changed.

The Beastfolk only cared about co-existence. The dwarves only cared about trade, not symbols. The elves barely acknowledged mortal power structures at all.

And spirits…

Ryn's jaw tightened.

Spirits didn't care about anything unless it disturbed the world itself.

So why now?

Why clear borders? Why position observers in advance for an event that, on paper, still belonged to humanity?

Ryn exhaled slowly as the square came into view.

Whatever the Hero's Ceremony had become…

It was no longer just a human affair. And that was the part no one was saying out loud.

The streets emptied into open stone.

People were already gathering, drawn toward the city square in uneven waves. Some hurried, others jogged outright, but there was no panic, mostly urgency.

Voices overlapped in fragments, speculation passing from mouth to mouth faster than truths ever could.

"Something's happening—"

"Look, up there—!"

Ryn slowed as the fountain came into sight.

The water had gone unnaturally still. It wasn't frozen nor drained…simply held in place, as if motion itself had been suspended.

At its center, resting just above the surface, was a construct of pale metal and crystalline facets, supported by a web of glowing sigils that pulsed softly beneath the waterline.

He knew what it was.

A water projector—a dwarven invention that made use of water-aligned manalite to display messages across large spaces.

A dwarven invention…Rio was right.

The crowd pressed inward around it, forming a loose ring. People climbed low ledges, stood on crates, leaned against one another just to see.

No guards forced them back, yet…no one touched it.

Ryn shifted his gaze to a nearby corner of the square and instantly spotted his crew.

Amelia stood posture straight, her attention locked forward. Maria was just behind her, arms folded, eyes sharp and calculating. Jay lingered at their side, visibly out of place, craning his neck like everyone else.

They were already here.

Which meant this hadn't spread by accident.

Ryn stopped just behind them as the ambient noise began to thin.

Amelia finally glanced back at him.

"Where did you go?"

Ryn blinked. "Me?"

"You weren't at the estate," she said quietly. "You just… vanished."

Ryn shrugged. "Went to see someone."

Maria's eyes flicked to him. "Who?"

"The Arctis delegation."

Amelia stiffened. "You went to Rio?"

Ryn nodded. "Briefly."

Her lips pressed together. "You know he doesn't like you."

"That's mutual," Ryn said lightly.

Maria studied him more closely now. "And?"

Ryn started. "Well, he was busy. Apparently—"

The artifact pulsed, interrupting the sentence.

Once.

Light rippled through the fountain, sigils flaring as the suspended water rose into a shimmering plane. The low murmur of the square collapsed into silence all at once.

Everyone stared with awe at the screen.

Five seats.

Five figures robed in the colors of their respective Churches, arranged in a single row behind a long stone dais.

Ryn's eyes narrowed.

All five…?

That alone was wrong.

The Churches rarely appeared together in anything but name. Aster had never been united in doctrine—the conflict's been there since the city's conception.

And yet they were here.

Side by side.

The crowd stirred uneasily.

Ryn's gaze shifted instinctively to the central figure.

The Rhean Pope.

Maria's brother.

He looked… older than Ryn remembered.

Not in years, but in posture. His shoulders sat heavier beneath his robes, his hands resting on the dais as if he needed the support. The usual calm authority in his expression was still there, held together through effort rather than certainty.

Even through the projection, the fatigue was unmistakable.

He rose while the other four remained seated.

That, too, was deliberate.

The Rhean Pope inhaled once before speaking, his voice carrying cleanly across the square without amplification, as if the artifact itself bent to his will.

"People of Aster," he began.

The square went utterly silent.

Ryn felt Maria tense beside him.

"This address was not planned lightly," the Pope continued, eyes sweeping across the unseen crowd beyond the projection.

"Nor was it reached through ease or consensus."

A pause.

Long enough for the weight of the words to settle.

"We speak today," he said, voice steady despite the strain beneath it, "because the world no longer affords us the luxury of tradition."

Ryn's pulse ticked upward.

So that's how they're framing it.

"The Hero's Ceremony," the Rhean Pope continued, "was built for a different era."

His gaze lowered slightly, as if the words themselves weighed on him.

"It was designed to anoint a single figure. To place the burden of hope upon one individual, chosen through lineage, circumstance, or providence."

A ripple passed through the square, neither in protest nor agreement—but recognition.

Ryn felt it settle in his chest.

"But the era that allowed such certainty has ended," the Pope said quietly. "The threats we now face do not wait for symbols. They do not pause for spectacle."

He inhaled slowly.

"And so, the Churches will no longer decide on the Hero."

The square went still. Murmurs broke free despite themselves.

Yet, the next words hit heavy.

"Instead," he continued, lifting his gaze, "we will open the Hero's Path."

The words carried.

"Each recognized faction will be permitted to put forth a candidate," the Pope said evenly.

"Not to be crowned. But to be tested."

Ryn's fingers tightened.

"Those candidates will walk the Path," the Pope continued, "and only those who endure its trials will advance."

A pause.

"The one who reaches its end and earn the people's trust," he said, voice firm despite the wear beneath it,

"will be recognized as this age's Hero."

Ryn's hand clenched.

He hadn't noticed until his fingers dug into his palm, grounding him as the noise of the square washed over everything else.

This wasn't random.

This wasn't a coincidence.

His interference. The pressure he'd applied too early. The ripples he'd assumed would settle.

They hadn't.

The Hero's Ceremony hadn't collapsed on its own.

It had been replaced.

Shit…

Ryn exhaled slowly.

I did this.

And if this was the result of his first real deviation—

Then his greatest advantage was already gone.

The world had shifted.

And this time, his knowledge could no longer guarantee the way forward.

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