Fang Yuan stood before the vault sky within his immortal aperture. It no longer trembled. It pulsed.
He had seen this rhythm before—not in the world, but in the myth that refused to be remembered.
"They're beginning to step."
He closed his eyes and listened—not with ears, but with calculation. At least three of his clones had deviated in thought. One had dared name itself. One had walked into the Root and lingered. One had begun watching the sky as if seeking prophecy.
A Sovereign fears no traitor, he thought. But I am not yet Sovereign.
He opened his eyes and raised his hand.
A move began forming—not to destroy, but to bind.
He would not erase them yet.
He would test them.