The Chronicle Dial had not turned in centuries.
Buried beneath layers of forgotten stone, the artifact of Time pulsed once—subtle, precise. It did not move forward or backward. It simply acknowledged a deviation in the flow.
Time bent slightly toward a singular point.
A boy who should have ended.
The Spiral Vault, folded between coordinates that no longer existed, resonated next. Space recognized a presence that could no longer be excluded by distance or compression.
Containment would fail.
Separation would fail.
Finally, the Crown of Real, fractured and whole all at once, reacted—not with energy, but with permission. Reality loosened its grip just enough to allow adaptation without collapse.
The First Law had found a voice.
And the world, unknowingly, had answered.