The royal capital had not yet realized it was standing on broken ground.
Merchants still shouted. Knights still patrolled. The flags of Lugnica still waved proudly above stone walls built on promises older than the people who trusted them.
But the rules those promises depended on were failing.
Anos Voldigoad walked calmly through the main avenue, eyes half-lidded, observing how the world attempted to pretend it was whole.
"So this is the pivot," he said quietly.
He felt it before he saw it—a small object, insignificant in size yet burdened with absurd importance. Fate clung to it desperately, like a drowning man to driftwood.
A royal insignia.
Nearby, the black-haired boy argued with the same blonde thief from before.
"Hey, I'm telling you, that thing isn't yours!" the boy said.
"It is now," Felt replied, gripping the insignia tightly. "Someone's paying good money for it."
Anos stopped.
He did not need to intervene.
The world forced him to notice.
"So even without death loops," Anos murmured, "you still attempt to railroad events."
The insignia pulsed.
A call went out—toward spirits, toward destiny, toward a half-elf who had not yet arrived.
Anos raised his hand.
The pulse stopped.
Not suppressed.
Disconnected.
The insignia became what it truly was: a decorated piece of metal.
Felt frowned. "Oi… it stopped glowing."
The black-haired boy blinked. "Was it supposed to glow?"
Anos stepped forward.
"This object exists to choose a ruler," he said. "That alone is enough to make it unfit for purpose."
Both of them stared at him.
"Who are you?" Felt demanded.
Anos looked down at the insignia, then closed his fingers around it.
Crack.
The sound was soft—but final.
The insignia split cleanly in half.
Somewhere far away, a contract shattered. A prophecy dissolved. Five thrones lost their justification.
The world lurched.
Knights across the capital staggered as blessings flickered wildly. The Dragon Stone in the castle cracked, its light dimming.
Felt stumbled back. "H-hey—what did you just do?!"
"I removed a lie," Anos replied calmly.
The black-haired boy felt his heart race.
"That thing… was important," he said.
"Yes," Anos answered. "That is why it had to go."
He turned away, already losing interest.
"This kingdom no longer gets to choose its future by artifact."
Above them, unseen by all, fate screamed as its final anchor snapped.
And for the first time in centuries—
The royal selection had no beginning.