They left the alcove before the count fully ended.
The land beyond the second outer ring opened into low scrub and the remains of older roads that the wizard city no longer bothered to maintain. Cracked stone gave way to packed dirt, then to paths that animals and smugglers used more than official traffic.
The residual pressure of active wards fell away behind them like a door closing. What remained was thinner, older, the quiet signature of open country that did not care who walked through it.
Atlas felt the difference right away. Inside the wizard city the constant low measurement had pressed against him without pause.
Out here it eased off, leaving only the deeper current of his own bloodline and the quieter awareness of the three people moving with him.
