AREN'S POV
The city did not sleep anymore.
It rested—but lightly, like a living thing aware of its own pulse. Aren noticed it the moment he stepped onto the upper terrace of the Citadel before dawn. The air held a quiet awareness, a tension that was not fear but anticipation. Lamps dimmed themselves as the sun rose. Stone warmed gradually beneath his boots. Somewhere far below, water shifted course in its channels, responding to currents no engineer had redirected.
The world was learning.
And so were its people.
Aren leaned against the balustrade, hands braced on cool stone, watching the horizon bleed from indigo into gold. The Echo within him stirred gently, no longer a force that demanded attention, but a presence that listened. He had spent the night awake—not restless, but thinking. Every choice now felt heavier, not because of doubt, but because of consequence.
Behind him, footsteps approached—measured, familiar.
