The change did not arrive as inspiration.
It arrived as arithmetic.
Morning exposed the numbers clearly: the knee's stiffness had crossed from background into constraint. Not failure. Not crisis. A limit that would not negotiate. He stood and tested weight. The joint answered with a blunt refusal to repeat yesterday's cadence.
So he didn't.
Change, this time, would not be a choice layered on top of the same line. It would be a different line altogether.
He packed slower than usual, not to spare the knee, but to re-sequence the day. Shorter blocks. Longer pauses. Decisions made earlier, before fatigue could bargain them down.
He moved.
The land rose gently and stayed there, a sustained incline that punished momentum. He abandoned it. Instead of pushing through the slope, he angled across it, accepting distance to reduce torque. The pace slowed further, but the pain stopped climbing.
Arithmetic confirmed.
By midmorning, he reached a place where the path fractured into braided traces—old detours worn thin by travelers who had learned the same lesson. He chose one without ceremony and followed it even when it looked wrong.
It wasn't wrong.
It was patient.
Later, he encountered others again—two figures resting beside a stone marker. One looked up as he approached. "You're rerouting," they said.
"Yes."
No justification followed. None was requested.
They watched him pass, then one added, "That line takes longer."
"It costs less," he replied.
The Blood Sigil warmed briefly—precise, approving the logic without smoothing it.
The reroute demanded a different discipline. Less balance, more timing. Fewer sharp corrections, more steady placement. He leaned into it, letting the system relearn what effort looked like.
At a shallow crossing, he did not wait for stones to settle. He waited for breath. When it did, he crossed—slow, deliberate, intact.
Pain remained, but it stopped escalating.
That mattered.
By afternoon, the weather shifted and the light flattened. He paused more often, not from weakness, but to keep the math honest. Each pause bought continuity later.
Change was paying dividends.
Near a low ridge, he stopped and reassessed again. The reroute had cost him distance. It had preserved capacity. Tomorrow would be possible.
He accepted the trade.
As evening approached, he found a place to rest earlier than planned. This time, it felt intentional, not reactive. He lowered himself carefully and checked the knee. Swelling had stabilized. The ache remained contained.
The presence behind his sternum steadied—no longer aligned to endurance or repetition, but to adaptation without surrender. The sense of his name adjusted with it, clearer not because it advanced, but because it stopped resisting change.
He understood then:
Change forced by cost was not compromise.
It was stewardship.
When night came, sleep arrived more easily than it had in days. The body rested into the new pattern without argument.
Tomorrow would still ask for effort.
But it would not demand payment twice for the same mistake.