The tavern wasn’t fancy. The tables were broken, the chairs wobbled, and there was a hole in the roof.

  But the bread was warm, and the drink was good.

  That was all they needed.

  “See? I told you you’d win.” Zeyk slammed his beer on the table with a grin.

  “I nearly got killed,” Kian muttered, mouth full of surprisingly good stew.

  “But you won. And it was worth it,” Zeyk pointed out.

  Kian couldn’t argue with that. They’d gotten enough gold to last them a few weeks.

  And he wasn’t dead. Or missing a limb.

  So… win-win.

  But now that their money problem was solved, Kian had other things to worry about.

  Vikarma’s warning still echoed in his mind.

  Emotion had told him not to act in any meaningful way.

  But what was meaningful? How was he supposed to tell?

  He pushed the thought aside.

  I earned this bread.

  Now was the time to celebrate.

  For the first time since he’d come to the Mortal Plane, there was laughter.

  Real, vivid, wholesome laughter.

  Like the world wasn’t falling apart.

  (Which it absolutely was.)

  ____________________________________________________________________________

  Now, let us move away from our hero for a moment.

  Just a short distance from the tavern—through twisting alleys and shadowed streets—a gathering was taking place.

  A small circle of cloaked figures, hoods pulled low, voices hushed.

  Creepy? Absolutely.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  But they preferred devout.

  They had not felt divinity in this city for a very long time.

  And yet, just in a few days, they had felt it twice

  ____________________________________________________________________________.

  Twelve hooded figures, knelt in a circle,

  In the center— a single brazier flared — blue and gold flames twisted unnaturally.

  “He has used it again.” One whispered.

  “After all this time— The divine has awakened in Vaelmont.”

  A deep rumbling voice echoed across the walls,

  “Emotion”

  Murmurs rose.

  “Neutral,” the leader said softly. “The divine bearer is neutral. He bears the Spark of Cael’Ryn.”

  The others gasped.

  “I had warned him! Yet he refuses to listen.”

  “What does this mean, Balancer?” another asked.

  “The aspects have made their move.”

  The flames flared higher. A shape formed—a hand, open, reaching.

  Then, slowly, every head turned toward the center flame.

  The hand closed into a fist.

  “It’s time we made ours.”

  ____________________________________________________________________________

  Kian and Zeyk could finally afford a room,

  It wasn’t lavish,

  But as far as they were concerned, it was luxury.

  “I forgot what a bed felt like,” Kian said, collapsing onto the bed.

  ”I forgot what clean smelt like,” Zeyk said, falling face-first into the other bed.

  The room smelt of Lavender soap and musty wood.

  It had a few kerosene Lamps and a fireplace.

  Comforting in its own way.

  For a moment, the room was silent—just the gentle creak of wood and the hum of the city outside the window. The air smelled like lavender soap and old timber. Comforting, in its own way.

  Kian was just drifting off when a soft rustle broke the silence.

  A folded piece of parchment had been slipped under the door.

  He blinked. Sat up. Picked it up.

  One word was scrawled in a sharp, hurried hand.

  "You shouldn’t be here."