Treaties did not break loudly.
They fractured.
In a border city built atop layered accords—human law over elven passage rights, Covenant doctrine over draconic airspace—a council chamber stood empty long past dusk. The representatives had departed hours ago, yet the room retained tension, as if the arguments had refused to leave.
A single document lay on the central table.
Unsigned.
It was a reaffirmation treaty—routine, ceremonial, meant to reassure all parties that the old balances still held. That humans would remain bound by element. That non-humans would remain observers. That the Covenant's authority was uncontested.
No one had refused it outright.
They had simply… delayed.
"The elves are stalling," a Covenant envoy said, voice sharp with irritation. "They've never done this before."
Across from him, a draconic emissary in human form folded his hands. His eyes reflected too much sky. "They are remembering."
"That is not a legal justification," the envoy snapped.
"No," the dragon agreed calmly. "But it is a practical one."
The envoy turned to the third seat. "And you?"
The demon representative smiled politely, impeccably dressed, features elegant enough to pass any human court.
"Asmodeus has not instructed us to sign," he said. "Nor to refuse."
"Typical," the envoy muttered.
The demon's smile widened slightly. "Indecision is not our vice. Curiosity is."
The room fell silent.
Outside, the city's wind shifted direction without cause. Banners stirred against stone walls, not tugged, not forced—merely allowed to move.
The envoy felt it and stiffened. "This again."
The dragon closed his eyes briefly. "The sky is misaligning. Subtly."
"That's impossible," the envoy said. "We monitor atmospheric compliance."
"Yes," the dragon replied. "You monitor obedience."
A faint crack echoed—not from the walls, but from the treaty itself. A hairline fracture spread across the ink, distorting the sigils just enough to render them ambiguous.
The demon leaned forward, interested. "Ah. That's unfortunate."
The envoy stared. "It hasn't been activated."
"And yet," the demon said gently, "it no longer knows what it's enforcing."
Silence pressed down on the chamber.
This treaty had been designed to reaffirm hierarchy. To remind the world who spoke for it. But hierarchy relied on consensus, and consensus was thinning.
Far away, Vale crossed a wide plain where multiple borders overlapped but none asserted themselves. He felt no resistance, no invitation.
Only space, waiting.
Behind him, systems recalculated. Treaties hesitated. Old agreements strained under meanings they could no longer justify.
The Covenant envoy rose abruptly. "We will reconvene."
The dragon did not object.
The demon rose last, adjusting his cuffs. "Do let us know when certainty returns," he said pleasantly.
As they departed, the fractured treaty lay forgotten on the table.
By morning, the crack would be wider.
Not enough to be called broken.
Enough to be noticed.
And in a world governed by agreements, being noticed was the first step toward unraveling.