The land opened again after the valley.
Wider.
Quiet.
Kael kept the pace even.
Not slow.
Not rushed.
Lira walked beside him, the bond calm and clear.
"I don't feel watched," she said.
Kael felt it too.
Because we're not reaching.
They crossed a low ridge where old fence posts leaned at odd angles.
No borders meant anything here anymore.
Kael paused at the top.
He didn't scan for threats.
He looked for signs of strain.
None.
Below them, a narrow road curved away toward distant hills.
Kael chose it without hesitation.
Not because it was safer—
because it was lighter.
The others followed.
Sera spoke quietly.
"I thought gathering people meant pulling them in."
Kael felt Lira's answer form.
"It doesn't," she said.
"It means not pulling at all."
They walked until the sun warmed their backs.
A cart stood abandoned near the roadside.
One wheel broken.
Kael stopped.
He checked it quickly.
No trap.
No urgency.
He adjusted the wheel just enough to keep it from falling apart.
Then he stepped away.
Lira watched.
"You didn't fix it," she said gently.
Kael's intent was steady.
Someone else will.
They moved on.
Behind them, the cart remained—
usable.
Unclaimed.
As evening approached, the air cooled.
Kael stopped near a shallow hollow sheltered from wind.
He sat first.
Lira joined him.
The others settled naturally.
No one waited for instruction.
No one asked what came next.
That was new.
Lira felt it and smiled faintly.
"We don't need to explain anymore," she said.
Kael agreed.
Understanding travels faster than orders.
Night fell softly.
Stars appeared, clear and patient.
Kael rested his hands on his knees, breathing slow.
He felt no pull from the bond.
No call to act.
Only readiness.
And that was enough.
Because sometimes the strongest change—
Is leaving things intact.
So others can choose what to do with them.