Thousands still crowded the gate. Radeon let his Myridion Seersight wash over them, face after face, breath after breath. The tiny tells that gave a man away even when he tried to hold still.
Vengeance sat in some eyes like a hot coal. Espionage in others, the polite kind that smiled too quickly. A few were not even subtle, only probing the security to see where they might lack.
Seventy at least. Different flavors of rot. All of them memorized at once by his crystal brain.
He did not raise his voice. He did not need to. A thought sank into the faith that bound the wraiths to him, and the first task went out.
He did not need a ring. He was the storage. He was the system's mouth and stomach both. As long as their faith held, knowledge would travel.
On the first layer of the Cairnlight Barterhold, Calyx patrolled through each gate with the boredom of a blade kept too long in its sheath.
No one wanted to cause trouble. That was the problem.
