The incline steadied, less forgiving now, though still not hostile. Soil thinned to gravel, gravel to fractured stone that shifted slightly under weight before deciding to hold. The trees spaced themselves with intention here—not by chance, but by the quiet mathematics of light and wind and root.
Puddle adjusted first, lowering its center of gravity as the ground grew less certain. Each step placed, tested, accepted. No hesitation. Just recalibration.
Caria's breathing deepened, not from strain, but from awareness. "It's closer," she said, not needing to name what.
Rhys felt it too.
The Kingdom was no longer horizon-wide and diffuse. It had density here. Not a voice. Not a command. But a structure—lines crossing beneath perception, angles resolving into coherence. The kind of coherence that does not impose itself, yet changes the feel of every movement within it.
