The road narrowed again by morning.
Not because the land demanded it, but because travelers had learned to avoid certain stretches unless necessary. The grass thinned. The soil hardened. Old wheel ruts cut deep lines into the earth, then vanished as if the road itself had grown tired of remembering who passed through.
Kael walked alone.
The stillness inside him had settled into a steady presence now—not heavy, not restless. Alert.
That was how he sensed them.
Not ahead.
To the side.
He slowed his steps, letting his awareness spread without pressing outward.
There—at the edge of perception—movement without sound. Intent without urgency.
Observers.
Kael continued walking.
The road bent around a low ridge, and the air changed subtly. Not colder. Not denser.
Catalogued.
He stepped into a clearing shaped too neatly to be natural.
Stone markers stood at its edges, etched with symbols that did not belong to any sect Kael recognized. They were not aggressive inscriptions. They did not threaten.
They counted.
A figure emerged from behind one of the stones.
Then another.
Then three more.
Five in total—men and women in muted robes, colors chosen to avoid memory. Their cultivation was restrained so carefully it bordered on absence, but Kael could feel the precision beneath it.
These were not rogues.
They were not arbiters.
They were collectors.
"You crossed Crosswind," one of them said calmly. A woman with ash-colored hair and eyes that missed nothing. "You interfered with a neutral platform."
Kael stopped.
"Yes."
"No denial," she noted.
"Denial would be inaccurate."
That earned him a pause.
The woman stepped closer. "We manage irregularities that don't belong to anyone yet. People like you."
Kael studied her.
"You don't correct them," he said.
Her lips curved faintly. "Correction implies authority. We prefer acquisition."
That word settled unpleasantly.
"For what purpose?" Kael asked.
"To understand," she replied. "To archive. To decide whether something should be allowed to persist."
Kael felt the stillness tighten—not in resistance, but in focus.
"You collect people," he said.
"We collect outcomes," she corrected. "People are incidental."
That told him everything he needed to know.
The collectors spread out subtly, forming a loose containment arc. Not a trap—an assumption. They believed Kael would respond the way others did: probe, resist, escalate.
Kael remained still.
"You're unaligned," the woman continued. "No sect claim. No registry. No lineage worth noting."
Her gaze sharpened. "And yet structures hesitate around you."
"Yes," Kael said.
Silence followed.
Then one of the collectors stepped forward—a man with sharp features and careful movements. He extended a thin thread of pale energy, not a technique meant to bind, but to record.
The thread approached Kael slowly.
The stillness inside him shifted.
Not outward.
Inward.
The thread reached the boundary of his presence—and lost definition.
It did not break.
It forgot what it was meant to do.
The collector froze, eyes widening slightly as his connection dissolved.
"That's new," he said quietly.
The woman raised a hand, halting the others.
"You're not suppressing us," she said. "You're… misaligning our intent."
Kael nodded. "Intent assumes cooperation."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're dangerous."
Kael considered the word.
"No," he said. "I'm inconvenient."
That earned him genuine stillness from them.
The woman stepped closer, ignoring the subtle distortion around Kael's presence.
"You will come with us," she said. "Voluntarily, if possible."
"And if not?"
"Then we'll observe from a distance," she replied evenly. "Until the world decides you're too costly to ignore."
Kael met her gaze.
"The world already decided that once," he said. "It erased my parents."
For the first time, something flickered across her expression.
Not sympathy.
Recognition.
"That explains the resonance," she said softly.
Kael felt the stillness deepen—not reacting, but committing.
"I won't be collected," he said.
The woman studied him for a long moment, then inclined her head.
"Then we'll revise your classification."
She stepped back.
The collectors withdrew—not retreating, not advancing. Simply… repositioning.
Kael felt it then.
Not pursuit.
Interest.
As he resumed walking, the clearing returned to silence behind him, the stone markers dull and inert.
But Kael knew.
Collectors did not abandon data.
They waited for it to mature.
The road ahead stretched long and unclaimed.
And somewhere, in ledgers older than sects and quieter than Heaven, a new category had been opened—one without a clear end condition.
Kael walked on.
Stillness moving with him.