The sky above the riverlands burned gold as dawn broke, but Kael barely noticed.
Since returning from the Downy depths, something inside him had shifted. The world felt layered now—every sound carrying hidden meaning, every glance concealing intention. Magic wasn't loud; it was quiet, patient, and always listening.
The group moved east toward the foothills where the Pandoras—the mountain-dwellers—kept watch over ancient passes. According to the currents and Kael's visions, influence had begun spreading there too. Small groups were abandoning old alliances, whispering about a new order where strength was chosen, not inherited.
Mask walked beside Kael for the first time in days.
"You're different," Mask said without looking at him.
"I see more," Kael replied.
"And what you see?" Mask asked.
Kael hesitated. "Scares me."
Mask gave a faint nod. "Good. Fear keeps you from thinking you control what you only borrow."
They climbed until the air grew thin and sharp. Stone towers appeared on distant cliffs—Pandoran watchposts carved directly into the mountainside. But something was wrong.
No banners. No sentries.
Only silence.
Lysa reached for her sword. "This place should be alive."
Kael felt it before he saw it—magic clinging to the rocks like frost. Not refined like elf magic, not fluid like the Downys' current. This was raw and newly learned, uneven and hungry.
"They've been here," he said quietly. "Recruiting."
They entered the main gate cautiously. Inside, the village showed signs of sudden departure—meals half-finished, tools abandoned, doors left open. But no blood. No signs of battle.
A single figure waited in the central square.
A young man in mountain armor stood there, arms crossed, a broken-circle symbol painted across his chest. He watched them approach with an expression that wasn't hostile—just certain.
"You're late," he said.
Kael stepped forward. "Where is everyone?"
"Choosing," the man replied. "Some joined us. Some left. Some stayed behind to think."
"Joined who?" Sir Edric demanded.
The man's smile was thin. "The future."
Tension crackled. Several knights raised their weapons, but Mask lifted a hand, stopping them.
"What were you promised?" Mask asked.
The man shrugged. "Not promises. Purpose. We're tired of waiting for nobles to decide when we matter."
Lysa stepped beside Kael. "And you think following a shadow fixes that?"
"I think believing in something stronger than birth fixes it," he said.
Kael's stomach tightened. He understood the appeal—the same quiet pull he'd felt when touching the basin. Influence didn't demand obedience. It offered belonging.
"What happened to the elders?" Kael asked.
The man's gaze flickered. "They refused to change."
"Where are they?" Kael pressed.
A long silence.
Then the man pointed toward the upper pass. "If you want answers, go there. But understand this—the kidnapper isn't forcing us. We're choosing him."
As they climbed toward the pass, the group's fractures deepened. Some knights argued they should retreat and report to the king. Others wanted to push forward immediately. Old rivalries resurfaced, louder than before.
Mask slowed his pace until only Kael walked beside him.
"You're seeing the pattern now," Mask said.
"Influence doesn't conquer," Kael replied. "It convinces."
Mask inclined his head. "And conviction is harder to break than chains."
At the top of the pass, they found the elders.
Alive—but changed. Symbols painted across the stone behind them, circles broken and reformed. They spoke calmly, almost peacefully, about abandoning old hierarchies and preparing for a world after kingdoms.
One of the elders stepped forward. "The kidnapper's movement is not chaos," she said. "It's correction."
Kael felt the hollow silence inside him stir again. Magic was present here—but conflicted, uncertain, pulled in different directions by belief.
"We're not your enemy," he said carefully. "But something is using your hope."
The elder's eyes softened. "Perhaps. But hope is still ours."
The ground trembled suddenly.
A surge of magic cracked through the pass—violent, uncontrolled. Several new recruits stumbled forward, eyes glowing faintly, hands shaking as raw power flared around them.
"They're losing control," Lysa shouted.
Kael reacted instinctively. He stepped into the chaos, remembering Mask's lesson—listen to what magic refuses to say. Beneath the roaring energy, he found fear. Doubt. A silence screaming to be heard.
"Stop fighting it," Kael said to the recruits. "You're trying to force something that hasn't chosen you yet."
Slowly—painfully—the energy calmed.
When it was over, the recruits collapsed, shaken but alive.
The elder looked at Kael differently now. "You're learning fast."
Kael met her gaze. "Fast enough to know this isn't balance."
As the sun dipped behind the mountains, the group made camp on the pass. Below them, lights flickered across the Pandoran villages—some steady, some wavering, as if the land itself were unsure which future it wanted.
Later that night, Kael found Mask standing alone near the cliff edge.
"You knew this would happen," Kael said.
"I knew influence would reach the mountains," Mask replied. "I didn't know it would reach you this deeply."
Kael hesitated. "Do you ever worry you're shaping me the same way?"
Mask was silent for a long moment. "Every day."
Kael looked out across the dark valleys. Somewhere ahead, the princess endured. Somewhere behind, the kidnapper's movement grew stronger—not through force, but through belief.
And in between, Kael stood—learning to hold fire without letting it consume him.
Unseen in the shadows beyond the pass, a masked figure watched the camp with quiet interest… then vanished into the night.