It was dawn in name only.
The lowlands surrounding Blackridge choked in a carpet of mist that never burned off. Not even the twin vents, normally alive with molten breath, could cut through it. The air was damp with silence—like sound itself had been drowned.
Riku stood at the upper tier of the northern outpost wall, flanked by Kael and Sira. Below them, the outer perimeter patrols moved slower than usual. Spears dipped cautiously. Helmets turned too often. Even the hounds, restless in their pens, kept their noses high, growling at nothing.
"Third day in a row the mist hasn't cleared," Kael muttered. He pulled his outer cloak tighter. "Doesn't feel like weather anymore."
"It isn't," Riku said softly.
Sira gestured to the edge of the slope. "See that?"
Kael squinted. "Stone out of place?"
"No." Riku frowned. "That stone wasn't there yesterday."
He moved first, leaping down the ladder, not waiting for the guards to confirm safety. By the time Kael and Sira caught up, Riku was kneeling by the stone—a squat, smooth block, ash-grey and dry despite the mist clinging to everything else. It looked… placed.
Deliberately.
Not dropped. Not weathered. Set.
And carved.
Sira unslung her short blade as if the carving might spring to life. Kael crouched beside her, tracing the letters—etched in clean, precise strokes. Burned into the surface, not chiseled.
"I saw the wall breathe. I will not return."
Kael looked up. "This wasn't a challenge."
"No," Riku said. "It's a warning."
They stood there in silence for a moment, letting the words settle. The mist curled around their ankles. Every breath felt thick.
"Eyes behind mist," Sira murmured. "That's what the sentries keep saying."
Riku nodded. "Scout. From another territory. But they didn't enter."
"No breach?" Kael asked, unconvinced.
Riku turned to the wall behind them, eyes scanning the stone. Every brick was as he remembered—hewn with purpose, reinforced with obsidian veins. Not even a scratch. Still, something in him whispered that it had moved. Not in form. But in presence.
He reached forward and placed a hand on the wall.
Warm.
Too warm for dawn.
"Sira," he said. "Run a trace around the full perimeter. Have the builders log the wall temperatures at each segment. Quietly."
"On it."
"Kael. Ready the Hall of Silence. This stone goes there. No questions asked. No idle chat. And no one outside the inner circle sees it."
Kael didn't even argue.
They both moved.
Riku remained, crouched by the stone. Mist curled tighter around it now—as if reluctant to let go.
That evening, after the sun failed to shine again and the clouded sky bled into darker greys, the stone was placed in the center of the Hall of Silence.
The chamber was deep in the ridge's belly, carved into a natural faultline reinforced with polished basalt and ancient rootbone beams. No weapon was permitted here. No voice rose above a whisper. It was where records went to disappear—if not from memory, then from influence.
Riku watched as the stone was set onto the sigil-stamped dais at the center. Only three others had been granted placement there—each an artifact or message never fully understood, always treated as a key whose lock hadn't yet been found.
The mist lingered on the surface longer than expected. Almost lovingly.
"Do you think he was Sovereign-marked?" Sira asked, finally breaking the silence.
"Possibly," Riku said. "But more likely, he was a scout bound to one."
Kael stared at the inscription again. "He saw the wall breathe. What does that mean?"
Riku didn't answer right away.
He stepped forward, placed his palm on the stone's upper edge, and closed his eyes.
The sensation returned—like pressure pushing out from within the ridge. Not hostile. Not safe, either. It reminded him of breath held too long… and something deciding it no longer needed to.
"The wall didn't breathe," Riku said, his voice low. "The land did."
That night, no alarms sounded. No enemies appeared. No flare signals or warnings.
And yet every sentry on shift swore they heard the soft sound of whispering from beyond the mist. Not words. Not threats. Just presence. Listening.
The next morning, the mist remained.
But someone—or something—had cleaned the stone.
The message was still there, but the surface had been wiped clean of soot and moss. As though the message mattered enough… to be remembered clearly.
As Riku walked past it on his next inspection, he whispered one phrase to himself, under breath, too low for even Sira to hear.
"Then don't return."
And the wall, behind him, remained still.
For now.