The tunnel sloped downward for a long time before it began to rise again.
Kael moved slowly, guided by Ryn's rough directions and the faint markings smugglers had left years ago. Old scratches on stone. Knots of cloth tied where passages split. Signs meant for people who lived their lives between places, never fully belonging to any of them.
The farther he went, the quieter it became.
No city hum. No distant bells. Just the sound of his own breathing and the soft scrape of his boots against stone.
His body still hurt.
Every step pulled at his shoulder. His ribs flared when he breathed too deep. Fatigue lingered like a weight pressing down on his thoughts. But beneath all of it, something else had changed.
The presence was steady.
Not agitated. Not reactive.
Settled.
Kael did not like that.
Power that screamed was easy to fear. Power that waited was harder.
He reached a narrow chamber where the tunnel widened briefly before splitting again. Moonlight filtered through cracks above, pale and cold. This was close to the outer wall.
Kael paused and leaned against the stone, closing his eyes.
He forced himself to think.
Up to now, every step had been forced on him. The corpse pit. The chase. The underdistrict deal. The broker. The sanctioned officer.
Survival had dictated his choices.
That excuse was gone.
He could leave Blackspire entirely. Vanish into the outer territories where the city's authority weakened and names meant less. Hide until the hunt cooled.
Or he could stay close enough to feel the pressure.
Learn.
Grow.
Kael opened his eyes and laughed softly.
He already knew which path he would take.
The presence pulsed, slow and heavy, as if it had known all along.
Kael took the right tunnel.
The exit lay concealed behind a collapsed stone slab that slid aside with effort and a low grind of rock. Cold night air rushed in, sharp and clean compared to the stale tunnels.
Kael stepped out beyond the city wall.
Blackspire loomed behind him, a jagged silhouette against the sky. From this angle, it looked less like a city and more like a fortress built to keep something in as much as keep others out.
Kael stared at it for a long moment.
You noticed me, he thought.
Good.
He turned away and followed the narrow path winding down into scrubland and broken stone. The land beyond the wall was not empty. It was simply less controlled. Fewer patrols. Fewer lights. More places for people to disappear.
The presence shifted as he moved farther from the city.
The lines weakened.
Authority thinned here, stretched over distance and neglect. Kael could feel it like pressure easing off his chest.
By dawn, he reached a shallow ravine where a trickle of water cut through dry rock. He knelt, drank deeply, and washed the blood from his hands and face.
For the first time since the corpse pit, his reflection looked almost normal.
Almost.
His eyes seemed darker. Sharper.
Older.
Kael tore a strip from his shirt and tightened the binding on his shoulder. He checked the medallion he had taken from the sanctioned officer. It lay heavy in his palm, cracked and dull, its authority drained but not gone.
Useful.
Everything was useful if he survived long enough.
He moved on.
By midday, Kael spotted smoke.
Not a city plume or a watchtower signal. A campfire. Low. Careful.
He slowed immediately, crouching behind a rise and studying the area.
Three wagons stood in a loose circle. Traders or smugglers, judging by the lack of banners. A dozen people moved about, armed but not armored. Practical weapons. Spears. Short blades. Bows strung but not drawn.
Not soldiers.
Desperate people with something to protect.
Kael considered avoiding them.
Then the presence stirred.
Faint lines of authority ran through the camp. Not strong. Not centralized. But real.
Leadership.
Hierarchy born of necessity rather than law.
Kael exhaled slowly.
This was the world beyond the walls.
He stepped into view.
Shouts rang out instantly.
"Hey!"
"Hold!"
Weapons came up. A bowstring creaked.
Kael raised his hands and kept walking until he stood a safe distance away.
"I'm not here to steal," he said. "I want to trade."
A woman stepped forward from between the wagons. She was tall, broad shouldered, with hair bound tight and scars along her forearms. Her eyes were sharp and tired.
"You don't look like a trader," she said.
Kael nodded. "I'm not."
She studied him for a long moment, gaze flicking to his injuries, his stance, the knife at his belt.
"What do you want," she asked.
"Food," Kael replied. "Supplies. Information."
The woman's lips twitched. "Always information."
Kael reached into his pocket and set the cracked medallion on the ground between them.
"I have something to offer."
The moment it touched the dirt, the air shifted.
Subtle.
But everyone felt it.
The woman's eyes narrowed. "That's not normal."
"No," Kael said. "It isn't."
A murmur rippled through the camp.
The woman crouched and examined the medallion without touching it. "This is sanctioned," she said quietly. "Or it was."
Kael met her gaze. "Not anymore."
She straightened slowly. "What did you do."
Kael did not answer directly. "I crossed a line."
Silence stretched.
Then the woman laughed, short and sharp. "We all did, one way or another."
She gestured. "Name's Mara. We're heading north. The roads closer to Blackspire are getting dangerous."
Kael nodded. "That's why I'm here."
Mara studied him again, longer this time. "You're carrying trouble."
"Yes."
"And you want to walk it with us."
Kael did not lie. "For a while."
Mara considered. "You'll pull attention."
"Yes."
"Possibly kill us all."
"Possibly."
A few of the others shifted nervously. One spat into the dirt.
Mara sighed. "I hate honest men."
She nodded toward the wagons. "One night. You eat, you rest, and then you move on. You pull a blade on my people, you die."
Kael inclined his head. "Fair."
As he stepped into the camp, the presence settled again, pressing gently outward.
The lines adjusted.
Not submission.
Recognition.
That night, Kael sat by the fire and listened.
He listened to talk of patrols tightening near Blackspire. Of caravans vanishing on the southern road. Of a new levy being raised in the border towns.
"The city's scared," one man said. "Something spooked them."
Kael stared into the flames and said nothing.
Later, as the camp slept, Mara approached him quietly.
"You're not running from the city," she said.
Kael shook his head. "No."
"You're positioning," she guessed.
"Yes."
She nodded. "Then listen carefully. North of here, the land fractures. Old territories. Old powers. The city's reach fades, but something else takes its place."
Kael looked up. "What."
Mara's expression hardened. "Warlords. Cult leaders. Small kings who think distance makes them untouchable."
The presence stirred.
Authority, fragmented and wild.
Kael smiled faintly. "That sounds useful."
Mara grimaced. "That sounds like war."
Kael did not disagree.
When dawn came, he rose with the sun.
Mara handed him a small pack. "Food. Water. A map that's probably wrong."
Kael accepted it. "Thank you."
She hesitated. "Whatever you are, be careful who you break out there. The city forgets slowly. But the frontier remembers forever."
Kael slung the pack over his shoulder.
"I don't need to be remembered," he said.
He stepped away from the camp, heading north, toward fractured land and uncertain power.
Behind him, Blackspire remained silent.
Ahead, the world waited.
And the Devouring Throne listened.