A convergence of minor compromises accumulating in one region of space. A civilization stabilizing itself through repetition, mistaking predictability for resilience. A nascent power growing quietly inside a framework designed for something smaller.
None of them were breaking.
All of them were heading somewhere.
Asher slowed there—not stopping, just reducing his imprint enough to observe without influence. He watched timelines brush past each other. Saw choices deferred rather than made. Systems choosing convenience over clarity.
He noted one particular structure—a coalition bound by treaties older than the cultures now enforcing them. Every clause was honored. Every signature intact. And yet the original purpose had been lost so thoroughly that enforcement itself had become the problem.
It reminded him of the crown.
Not the object.
The habit.
