Tiran didn't come out of his hut the next morning.
Normally, his voice was the first thing people heard, assigning work, keeping things moving. But that day, there was nothing. Just wind brushing through dry grass.
At first, no one said anything. Then by noon, things started slipping. Two builders were arguing over a pile of sharpened stakes, both claiming it was theirs. No one went to fetch water because nobody had been told to. The central fire burned low, fading into grey ash as everyone assumed someone else would handle it.
Edrin moved through it all quietly, watching more than doing. He found Aris near the empty water barrels, already irritated.
"Feels quiet today," Edrin said, leaning against a post.
"It's better," Aris snapped, though his lips were dry. "No one barking orders. We can manage ourselves."
Edrin just nodded and walked off.
Inside the hut, the air smelled faintly of smoke and something older. Tiran stood there, looking down at his hands. They were clean. Too clean.
"Clean hands are for holding the leash," he said without looking up. "Go find Aris. Tell him I've stepped down. Tell him the food storage is open. Let them celebrate."
By sunset, the camp had turned into something else entirely. The dried meat stores had been broken into. Aris and a few others sat around the fire, laughing, eating too fast, grease running down their hands as they mocked the man who had "hidden."
None of them noticed Tiran until he stepped into the edge of the firelight.
He wasn't holding a weapon. Just a small leather kit.
"I hear we're celebrating," he said.
The laughter died almost immediately.
Aris stood up, wiping his mouth. "We're eating what's ours. We don't need someone telling us how to live."
Tiran nodded slightly, walking closer. "You're right. But in this place, meat doesn't keep the same way. There are things here. Bile-Fly larvae. They find exposed food fast. Lay eggs in seconds."
Aris looked at the strip of meat in his hand. His face drained.
"I didn't step down because I was afraid," Tiran said quietly. "I stepped down to see who wouldn't think before they ate."
Behind Aris, one of the men made a choking sound. Wet, wrong. He dropped to his knees, clutching his throat. His body started to swell unnaturally, his stomach pushing outward as if something inside him was growing.
No one moved.
"I'm the only one who knows how to take them out," Tiran said, his voice calm. "But I'm just a politician, right?"
" Please," Aris said, his voice breaking as he dropped to his knees. "Help him."
Tiran looked at him for a moment, then knelt beside the man.
He didn't rush. He opened his kit, took out a small hooked blade, and made a slow incision. The man screamed, thin and sharp, but Tiran didn't react. He reached inside with his bare hands and pulled something out.
It was a swollen, translucent sac, twitching slightly in his grip.
He held it up for everyone to see.
Then he looked at Aris.
"Open your mouth."
Aris shook his head, barely able to speak. "What?" " You led them. You take responsibility," Tiran said. "Eat it, or I walk away and let the rest of them end the same way."
No one spoke. No one moved.
Aris started crying, but he opened his mouth.
Tiran forced the thing in, holding his jaw shut until he swallowed.
Then he leaned in, close enough that only Aris could hear him.
" You got comfortable," he whispered. "Now remember."