Certainty, once lost, does not vanish cleanly.
It frays.
By the second day, the army's withdrawal had become a rumor that refused to settle into a single shape. Some said it was a feint. Others swore a new weapon was being prepared farther back along the ridge. A few—quiet, careful voices—said the guarantor had broken, and that something old had broken with them.
Those voices were not silenced.
They were noted.
That alone was unprecedented.
Supply lines adjusted. Scouts rode wider arcs. Orders grew longer, more conditional. Words like if, unless, and pending crept into command language that had once been absolute.
The machine still moved.
But it hesitated at its joints.
The Rotten-Heart walked with the rearguard for a time, then left it behind without announcement.
No one stopped them.
