Kael Monteli stood a moment longer on the balcony, fingers tightening around the coin—not in resistance, but in wonder. His legacy, once built on perfected form and tactical dominance, now felt like scaffolding for something far greater. He looked toward the horizon, where the threads of the Accord had begun to light up the world like veins of starlight running through the skin of reality.
Far below, across the plains once marked for battle, the audience had dispersed—not by command, but by comprehension. There was nothing left to cheer for. Only something to be part of.
In the heart of the Forge, Wild Variable remained quiet.
The amphitheater's energy had softened. What had been a crucible moments ago was now an origin point. The murals continued to shift, not by prophecy, but by connection. They no longer told fates—they showed possibilities. Each glance at them stirred intuition rather than command.
