Morning comes in pale gold through the high windows of the castle—clean, almost deceptive in its calm.

The city below is already awake. Bells ring. Carts roll. People argue, laugh, live. From up here, it almost looks like a world that isn’t bleeding at the edges.

In the courtyard, the brawn team gathers.

Cassian is already armored, cloak fastened, sword resting at his hip like it’s always belonged there. He looks more awake than he did last night—focused, settled into motion the way some people settle into thought.

Rook lounges nearby, lighter gear, easy grin.

Across the yard, on an upper balcony, the brain team watches.

Alaric stands at the rail, hands resting on the stone, crown absent in the early light. Without it, he looks younger. Less symbol. More man. Edrin stands beside him, half-buried in a scroll even now, lips moving faintly as he reads.

For a moment, our eyes meet across the distance.

The road beyond the gates stretches out—dusty, open, already warming under the sun. Somewhere out there are rumors of corruption, frightened towns, and maybe—if luck isn’t entirely dead—a priest who didn’t get swallowed by the collapse.

I gaze up at the prince wistfully.

“From down here I feel like I can truly understand the drive Romeo felt to climb that balcony. I’d do it too if I thought the prince would plant one on me once I got up there.”

I tap my lip in thought. “Wait. Didn’t Romeo get laid that night he climbed the balcony?”

[SYSTEM NOTE]
Idiomatic reference automatically translated to nearest mytho-romantic analogue. You’re welcome.

Alaric freezes.

Not stiffens. Not bristles.

Just—freezes—like the words take a full second to register.

Then color creeps up the backs of his ears. Subtle. Treacherous.

Cassian lets out a sharp bark of laughter beside me.

Rook squints up at the balcony, head tilting. “I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully. “Looks climbable to me.”

Edrin makes a strangled noise and immediately finds the stonework fascinating, eyes fixed anywhere but up.

Alaric recovers. He straightens, one hand tightening briefly on the railing before he schools himself. When he speaks, his voice carries—measured, warm, unmistakably amused.

“The lover in that story was reckless,” he calls down. “Impatient. And tragically bad at risk assessment.”

A pause.

“But,” he adds, lips curving despite himself, “yes. He was rewarded for the climb.”

Cassian glances sideways at me. “Careful,” he murmurs. “You’re giving him ideas.”

The gates open.

Sunlight spills out across the road ahead.

Above me, the prince watches a moment longer than strictly necessary—expression thoughtful, eyes bright—before turning back toward the work waiting inside the castle.

“Ah, boo,” I pout. “He ran away.”

I sigh, dramatic. “Well, suppose it would do better to let him yearn for me some more. Gotta flex my muscles a bit and let him swoon.”

I roll my arms once, loosening up, then shrug my pack on and turn toward the open gate.

“Cassian. Rook,” I add as I start walking, “I hope you both have a good sense of humor. Because it’s the only way I survive all this dark shit.”

Cassian snorts as he falls into step beside me, easy and practiced.

Rook adjusts the strap of his pack and grins. “Good. Because if humor’s your coping mechanism, mine’s making it worse on purpose.”

The road opens ahead—dusty, sun-warmed, bordered by low stone walls and fields just starting to green. Birds scatter as we pass. Life goes on, stubbornly normal for a world running on borrowed time.

Behind us, the castle gates close with a low, final sound.

“System,” I say. “Start the quest for investigating the church ruins. And—for gods’ sake—get me a lead on my sealed powers. This is ridiculous. How many handicaps can you start a man with?”

The System answers immediately. No drama. No delay.

[QUEST ACCEPTED]
Investigate the Broken Church
Status: Active
Location: Radiant Accord Ruins — west of the capital
Distance: One day’s travel on foot
Risk: Moderate
Notes: Residual sanctified zones detected. Corruption overlap possible.

A soft tick follows—like a page turning.

[SECONDARY PROCESSING…]

Behind my eyes, the System continues—measured, unapologetic.

[HERO ABILITIES STATUS — QUERY RECEIVED]
Lead granted. Limited.

CURRENT STATUS:
Primary Ability: CAUSALITY SHIFT — Partial (Passive State: Stable)
Hero Abilities Access: Sealed

One line highlights itself.

OBSERVATION:
CAUSALITY SHIFT does not respond to personal need.
It responds to external threat vectors—primarily risk to others.

Another pause.

[SYSTEM NOTE]
You were not given handicaps.
You were given constraints to prevent premature collapse.

The road bends ahead, revealing low hills—and farther out, a darker smudge against the sky. Old stone, half-swallowed by earth.

Of course it responds to threats to others.

Of course it does.

“System,” I say flatly, “you cannot be serious. Please review your information. You cannot possibly be telling me my only ability in this world is a support ability.” I huff and rub a tired finger against my temple. “Give me something I can flex.”

I sigh again, long and put-upon.

“It’s barely even dawn and you’re already pulling this crap.”

The System does not rush to defend itself.

Which, somehow, makes it worse.

[HERO ABILITIES QUERY — REFINED RESPONSE]
Clarification:
CAUSALITY SHIFT is not support-class.
It is non-classifiable.

A pause. Deliberate.

[You are mistaking how it activates for what it does.]

Another line slides into place.

ACTIONABLE LEAD:
If you want something you can “flex,” acquire an external vector.
Weapon. Relic. Contract. Oath.

Cassian gives me a sidelong look as I keep rubbing my temple. “You arguing with it,” he asks, “or threatening it?”

“Yes.” I say, irritated. Then, I sigh, yet again.

I let it go—for now—and glance at the two men walking with me.

“So,” I ask, “what can you two do? Swing a sword and a couple of knives?”

Cassian rolls his shoulder, metal shifting softly beneath his armor.
“Shield first,” he says. “Sword second. I hold ground. I don’t break.” A beat. “If something wants you, it goes through me.”

Rook spins a knife once and catches it neatly by the handle.
“Knives. Crossbow. Locks that weren’t meant to open.” His grin sharpens. “I get us where we’re not supposed to be—and I make sure they’re looking the wrong way when we leave.”

Cassian adds dryly, “He’s also very good at getting us chased.”

Rook shrugs. “Occupational hazard.”

The road slopes downward now, the ruins ahead a darker smear against the rising light.

The land changes as we walk.

Fields give way to scrub. Birds thin out. The air cools, carrying the faint scent of ash and old incense. Ahead, broken spires jut from the earth at crooked angles—stone blackened, symbols half-scraped away.

The ruins of the Radiant Accord.

Cassian slows, his hand settling near his sword. “I don’t like how quiet it is.”

Rook drops back beside me, voice low. “Good news: no active patrols. Bad news: something’s been here recently. Tracks don’t belong to pilgrims.”

I sigh. “I miss the hot prince already. He seems like the type to barrel in headfirst and get into trouble.”

I let myself imagine it, briefly. Wistfully.

“It’d be so cute.”

I glance sideways at Cassian. “What do you think? You want to go first?”

Cassian gives me a look that’s half long-suffering, half amused, then steps past me without ceremony, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. The blade catches the thin evening light—steel etched with old warding marks, worn but meticulously cared for.

The ruins loom closer.

Collapsed arches. Cracked stained glass scattered across the ground like frozen light. An old sanctum door hangs crooked on one hinge, the symbols of the Radiant Accord scratched through with deliberate violence.

Rook melts off to the side, already circling, footsteps soundless. “I’ll check the perimeter. If I scream, that’s bad. If I don’t come back—also bad.”

Cassian plants himself at the threshold, shoulders squared.

“Ready?” he asks.

The church waits.

“On your signal,” I say.