The Covenant did not ring bells to mark time.
Time was felt.
Isaiah learned this on his fourth day.
He woke when the hum beneath the Hall deepened, a low vibration that passed through bone before sound. The Covenant ran on an old technology woven into stone and faith, responsive not to clocks but to collective emotional rhythm. When enough minds were ready, the world moved forward.
That morning, it moved slowly.
Isaiah followed the sound into the Outer Walkway, a long bridge of blackstone suspended between two towers. Below it, Crescent City stretched outward in spirals, habitation rings, prayer districts, ship docks shaped like open palms.
Far beyond the city, planets glowed like quiet ancestors in the sky.
Each one belonged to a House.
No borders drawn in ink.
No flags.
Just memory, trauma, and survival deciding who ruled what.
A tall man leaned against the railing ahead, gazing outward. His armor bore the Hawk sigil — slender, functional, designed for distance rather than dominance.
"House Hawk?" Isaiah asked, unsure why he spoke.
The man nodded without turning.
"Former."
Isaiah frowned. "Former?"
The man's mouth curved into something that wasn't a smile.
"You don't stop belonging to a House when you leave," he said.
"They stop claiming you."
Isaiah felt that land in his chest.
The man turned then, sharp eyes, scar across his jaw.
"Name's Kaveh," he said. "I see you survived the Smiling Gentleman."
"Barely."
Kaveh chuckled. "That means he likes you."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Below them, Covenant vessels lifted off, smooth, quiet craft powered by emotional resonance rather than fuel. DOMA-reactive engines, carefully regulated. The Covenant hated waste. Especially wasted suffering.
"You ever notice," Kaveh said, "how the Houses built empires, and the Covenant built walls?"
Isaiah shook his head.
"The Houses expand outward," Kaveh continued. "They conquer planets, rename them, pretend trauma ends when territory grows."
He tapped the railing.
"The Covenant builds inward. Keeps things contained. Controlled."
Isaiah swallowed.
"So they're... better?"
Kaveh's laugh was dry.
"No. Just honest about what they are."
A horn sounded, low, respectful.
Training summons.
They moved to the Arena of Still Ground, where the Covenant tested restraint instead of aggression. The floor was layered with impact-absorbing stone, designed to break falls, not bodies.
At the center stood a young woman, trembling.
She couldn't have been older than Isaiah.
Her DOMA leaked from her like steam, sharp, frantic, grief-flavored. The kind that burned instead of crushed.
"She's new," Isaiah whispered.
"Was," Kaveh corrected.
The Smiling Gentleman stepped forward, hands raised.
"Okay, team," he said cheerfully. "Today's lesson is simple. When pain spikes, you do not chase it."
The girl nodded too quickly.
Her breath hitched.
Isaiah felt it - the familiar build in the chest.
Too fast.
Too much.
"Stop," the Smiling Gentleman said softly.
She didn't.
The pressure detonated.
Her DOMA flared, a violent emotional backlash. The stone beneath her cracked. The air screamed.
Isaiah staggered back, heart racing.
Then
Silence.
The Quiet King stood at the arena's edge, cane grounded.
Nocturne pressed outward - not crushing, not attacking.
Ending.
The girl collapsed, unconscious but alive.
The Quiet King spoke calmly.
"Remove her."
Two Wardens lifted her gently.
Isaiah's hands shook.
"Is she...?"
"She will live," Kaveh said quietly. "But she will never wield her DOMA again."
Isaiah turned sharply.
"Why?"
"Because power born from pain requires patience," Kaveh replied.
"And she tried to outrun hers."
The Smiling Gentleman looked unusually somber.
"Lesson two," he said to the gathered trainees.
"Verden is not kind to people who rush healing."
Isaiah looked around.
This wasn't a hero academy.
This wasn't a chosen-one factory.
This was a filtration system.
Only those who could sit with pain survived.
Above them, far in orbit, a Cathedral Ship of the Church of Celestial Veins drifted into view - gold and white, radiant, watchful.
The Covenant members noticed.
So did the Quiet King.
The world was paying attention now.
Isaiah felt his chest tighten - not with fear.
With understanding.
This universe didn't reward strength.
It audited endurance.
And he wasn't sure yet
whether he would pass.
The Shape of Power in Verden
Houses rule space.
The Church rules belief.
The Covenant rules restraint.
And the Forgotten rule what remains
when history becomes too heavy to carry.