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.
